Looking for Little Red by Scott William Carter

Author:Scott William Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scott William Carter

Chapter 6

Even trudging through the thick snow as fast as he could, Farley was still a good ten minutes away when he heard the bell. When he finally crashed against the trunk of a big oak at the top of the hill, the ring had long since faded. The steepled white schoolhouse, Havel Bend's first church before they built a bigger one to accommodate the growing village, was quiet.

Squinting into the distance, he could just make out a few children down the shoveled path back toward the village, disappearing into the homes with smoke rising from the chimneys. Warm fires in the hearth. Dinner on the table. Families that loved each other. Feeling gloomy, Farley was about to turn back into the forest when the school's heavy wooden doors swung open.

And there she was.

She wore her red hooded coat, not the flimsy cotton jacket she wore in the summer, but the thick wool one trimmed with white fur. There was something about that white fur next to her rosy cheeks that made her skin look radiant in the late-afternoon sun. She'd had a nice figure when he saw her last, but there'd still been something girlish about her. Not anymore.

She carried a wicker basket full of books under one arm. Her curly blonde hair—there were still streaks of strawberry when the sunlight hit it just so—had gotten long. Underneath her coat, she wore not a dress, which the village required of school teachers, but a yellow blouse over brown pants. The little act of defiance, so like her, made him smile. He looked for a ring on her finger and didn't find one.

Perhaps because she was alone for once, Farley allowed his gaze to linger—and was therefore exposed when a crow in the branches above him cawed loudly and took flight.

Red looked up the hill.

Farley was already back behind the trunk, but he knew she might have seen him. After a few seconds, however, he heard the crunch of her boots receding. She began to whistle, a lilting tune from a song about daisies on the last day of summer. It had always been one of her favorites. He stole a glance and saw her walking away from him, toward the snow-laden thatched roofs in town.

After she disappeared, Farley started back the way he'd come, into the forest. Why did he torture himself like this? The shadows on the snow were longer, the air colder, his heart heavier. While portaling made no sound, it was never a good idea to do it where the blue light could be seen. Leave no trace, raise no questions. It was one of the first things Tarnock had taught him. That and to never turn down a free mug of mead, though this advice seemed of more dubious value.

Farley had walked perhaps five minutes, into a grove of birch trees, when he heard the crunch of snow behind him. Dagger out of its sheath, he spun around.

Red, her hood up, stepped from behind the trunk of a birch.

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