Wing & Claw #3 by Linda Sue Park

Author:Linda Sue Park
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

IT was late morning by the time they got back to camp, Kuma carrying Twig on her shoulder. Raffa kept thinking about everything that needed to be done. The thorns had to be soaked in nettle essence. The knitted sacks had to be finished and filled. Yet another council meeting, to present their idea for Roo . . .

And the whistles. I keep forgetting about them. We need to make a whole bunch of them.

It’s too much. I’ll never get it all done, we’ll never be ready. And even if I get everything done, the problem is bigger than that. If everyone is too scared and can’t bring themselves to do what needs doing, nothing else will matter.

His breath shortened; he found that he was almost gasping for air.

As they entered the clearing, Elson was the first person they met. He greeted Kuma with a hug, then looked at Raffa with a frown.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Are you unwell?”

“No,” Raffa said. “I’m just— There’s so much to do, I don’t know—” He had to force the words out one at a time.

“Put your hands on your knees, son,” Elson said. “Head down.”

Raffa shrugged. “It’s okay—I’m all right—”

“Not asking you,” Elson said, kindly but sternly. “Go on. Five breaths, deep ones—in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Raffa liked and respected Elson too much to disobey, even though he thought the command a waste of time.

He was wrong. By the end of the third breath, his head had already cleared and steadied. No more panicking, he told himself firmly. The only way to get everything done is to do one thing at a time.

When he straightened up, he saw Elson gazing at him intently.

“Thanks,” Raffa said, with a small wave. Elson nodded and patted his shoulder.

Raffa turned to Kuma. “Will you tell him about your idea for Roo? I need to get these thorns to the pother tent.”

“An idea for Roo?” Elson said, with a smile. “I like the sound of that.”

Raffa poured the nettle essence into the buckets holding the thorns. He gave the thorns a good stir with a wooden paddle; they would steep and become thoroughly saturated. He covered the bucket with a cloth and set it aside.

Then he joined Garith and Jimble, who were transferring the blue-goo—which was what Jimble had christened it—into smaller jars. With the three of them working together, it didn’t take long. Raffa had the last jar in his hand when Jimble turned his head toward the tent door.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Raffa heard what sounded like a distant clowder of cats and kittens, mewing, meowing, yowling. He nudged Garith and touched his own ear.

They all went outside. The noise continued, coming closer, although Raffa still couldn’t see anything.

“What do you hear?” Garith asked.

Raffa shook his head. “It sounds like cats”—he put his hand near his face and tweaked invisible whiskers—“but that can’t be right.”

“Oh!” Jimble exclaimed. “I can hear Camma and Cassa!”

He took off running. Raffa and Garith followed him. When they turned the corner onto the central path through the camp, Raffa saw the source of the noise.

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