Sugar ran out of the cave into the light. She considered running back downhill to escape whatever it was coming at her in the inky dark of the cave, but because that was her first choice, she rejected it. It would expect her to run downhill; it would expect her to hide somewhere away from the cave, perhaps in the waters of the swamp. There was no way she could get far by trying to steal away quietly. Her very footfalls would make her an easy mark.
No, she wouldn’t run. She looked around for a place to hide close by and spotted one above the mouth of the cave behind an outcropping of rock. She didn’t know if it was big enough to hide her, but it would have to do.
Quickly, carefully, she moved away from the mouth and climbed up the small ridge that ran along the brow of the cave.
Something splashed through water just inside the mouth of the cave.
She pulled herself up the last few feet and slid behind the rock. But she didn’t have time to lie down, for the beast burst into view below her. It took a number of steps then stopped, surveying the slope below.
The creature stood like a man of freakish proportions. Heavy-limbed, wide, maybe seven feet tall, with a small, odd-shaped head. It was immense. She thought she saw an ear on the side of its head, but it was too ragged to tell exactly what it was. Shaggy grass grew unevenly over the whole of its body. Along its shoulder and back clung a large swath of blackened, ashy tufts and blades. Yet below the burned part, about where a man’s ribs would end, grew a patch of what appeared to be green grass mixed with the small white flowers of creeping wood sorrel.
If it turned around and looked up, it would see her. But she didn’t dare crouch, didn’t dare make adjustments for fear of making even the smallest of sounds.
The creature moved slightly and made a hideous sound that froze her spine.
It moved again. Again, the awful sound, and Sugar realized it was the intake of breath. A horrid gasp. Loud, like a man suffering from the black lung.
Was it trying to scent her?
The air about her was still, no morning updrafts or crosswinds. No downdrafts. The breeze in the cave blew outward, and so the thing would not have smelled her in there. But that also meant the breeze might, at this very moment, be carrying the scent that pooled about her.
A crack sounded from the woods below.
The creature turned to it.
Heartbeats pounded in her ears.
Then the thing moved, loping downhill in the direction of the sound, the grass about its body jolting with every stride.
Sugar realized she’d been holding her breath and gasped for air.
The creature leapt into the air, clearing a large tangle, and landed heavily on the other side. Two more strides, and then it was nothing but a flash through the trunks of the trees.
She gauged the distance it had covered in the few breaths since it had first moved. Never in her life could she have outrun it.
The rustling of a tree sounded from below, and she knew when it found nothing below, when it smelled her trail growing stale, it would come back.
Her legs shouted out for her to run, but she fought it. Sugar turned and carefully, oh, so carefully began to ascend the hill. She would find her escape on the other side, or not at all.
Hunger backtracked for about a quarter of a mile along the trail he’d taken earlier and then stopped under a cluster of tall pines. He had seen nothing. Heard nothing but a bunch of noisy grayfans. He would find nothing along this trail. The scent had been stronger back at the cave. He turned and began to walk back, looking, listening for anything at all.
He came to the tree in which the grayfans sat. He searched the ground and then looked up. It didn’t take long before he found it: one rotted branch hanging at a broken angle. Noisy birds cracking branches-that’s what he’d chased after. Or maybe some deer. It could have been anything that had made the noise earlier.
He cursed himself, crouched down on all fours, and began to follow the scent more closely. It was a woman; he could smell that.
Back up the slope he went, making sure to check for trails of scent leading away from this one. But he found none. He stood at the mouth of the cave, and could smell her in there. Could he have run by her in his haste? He followed her trail in, but found it ended not far inside.
If he’d run by, then she had come back out, but she hadn’t run downhill. No, Hunger examined the area around the mouth of the cave and found her scent clinging to the rock. He followed it up to a ridge and found a pool of her scent. She had stopped here. She could have been squatting right there when he’d run downhill like a fool.
But it didn’t matter. He had her scent and her trail. He would catch the wily thing and bring her back. He was the Mother’s now; his family depended on it.
He felt good to have such a clear purpose. He felt as if a burden had been lifted. Serving the Mother wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Hunger followed the woman’s trail, sometimes loping on two limbs, sometimes staying close to the ground on all fours. He followed it up over the crest of the hill and back down into the valley on the other side and to the banks of a marshy river.
Wily, she was. But there were some parts of a person’s scent that did not sink into the depths. Some of it hung in the very air. Oh, water made it harder to track. Sometimes it flowed away at great speeds, erasing all traces of a trail, but not this sluggish river, this half marsh. He got down on all fours and strode out into the water and smelled her on the surface. The scent was faint, but it was thick enough to follow.
Then he lost it. She had fallen or dived under and swam. He searched in widening circles around the area where he last smelled her, and in a short time found her again and followed her to the far bank.
He began to lope, and her scent grew with every step. Fresher, stronger. Through the woods he ran, the dampness there and the cover from the sun keeping her trail together, making her as easy to follow as a slow parade of cattle.
Stronger and stronger it grew until he broke from the woods upon a small farmstead.
Hunger paused and watched. A small herd of brown-and-white milk goats grazed in a pasture beyond the house. The scent was strong here. Exceedingly strong.
He followed the woman’s trail to the barn. The doors stood open and he strode inside and stopped. He smelled horse and hay and harness. He smelled her as if she were standing in front of him.
He had her, had her trapped in this barn like a mouse in a box.
Hunger closed the doors to the tidy barn behind him. There was a stall and a loft of hay. He looked in the stall and found it empty. She was in the hay in the loft then.
He leapt to the loft and landed in a crouch, watiting for her to try to run by him. He waited. Nothing. He kicked through the hay, reached in to the deepest parts. But she wasn’t there.
Hunger cursed and walked back out and circled the barn. Only then did he realize what had happened. He breathed in deeply to smell it for sure-she’d taken the horse.
He followed the scent a number of paces down to the trail that led from this house.
She’d taken the horse and was at this very moment trotting away. He looked at the hoofprints. She was not galloping. Not that woman. She had shown herself too smart for that.
Hunger almost chased after her, but he stopped himself. He could match the speed of a horse, but not for long. He needed food. He would fail along the way if he didn’t replenish his Fire.
He pushed the door to the house open and found only a table and an orange cat hiding under a chair, looking up at him in fear. An old couple must live here. He saw one pair of large, muddy, wooden clogs next to the door. Or maybe it wasn’t a couple. Maybe it was just an old man and his cat.
He left the house and cat and went to the pasture. The brown-and-white goats scattered at his coming, but they were no match for his speed. He caught one whose horns had split into four curls and devoured its Fire and soul. It was not enough, and he chased down three others, leaving their bodies lying on the chewed grass.
When he’d drained the last one and felt satisfied, he stood. The power surged in his limbs. The scent of the horse mixed with the female still lay thick along the road. The sun and wind would disperse it. But not before he caught her.