The Language Of The Trees/ An Evalyce Novel [#NaNoWriMo16]

Chapter 8: Finding the Flintclaw

Finding the Flintclaw

Dashmar, Year of the Lion Claw, 1727 CE

    We returned to our wagon silent and subdued. The death of mother and cub had left a pall over the pack. I still couldn't fathom why Marekoff would have killed the child. There were a number of other nursing mothers in the small village. Surely they could have helped Novak care for his little one. The incident served to illustrate how very little we really knew about the Dashmari.  

    Given the events of the evening, we had decided to move on in the morning. The Red Fern pack was grieving. They didn't need us hanging around. There was no evidence they held the child, and snippets of conversation suggested we seek out the invading Flintclaw pack.

     I was snuggled now next to Ari, on the narrow bunk barely able to hold the both of us.

    "Ari... do you still think we'll find Nellie alive?" I pulled his arm tighter around me, shivering involuntarily. It hurt to think of the girl dying amidst this harsh landscape, slaughtered by an enigmatic people, likely for reasons we couldn't comprehend. The sight of the tiny, silent bundle in Marekoff's arms haunted me. It seemed so senseless.

    "I still think we'll find the girl alive, Mai. I can't stop thinking that til proven otherwise."

    We were speaking quietly as possible, to keep our words from the sharp ears of the Dashmari. We spoke a mix of Kymry and Argosian.

    "You haven't once said her name, Ari. Why not?"

    "You should not either, callowayla. That way, if the worst happens, it will be easier to accept. Names foster attachments we can ill-afford in this line of work."

    From the dark recesses of the wagon, Merc grumbled sleepily, sounding for all the world as if he were agreeing with Ari.

    "I don't know if I can be that cold, Ari."

    He hugged me closer. "I know, callowayla, I know. It takes time to learn to think that way. I pray you aren't given a reason to learn faster this trip out."

    "Me too", I murmured, as I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

    Morning dawned, bright and cold. Marekoff said nothing of our early departure. Indeed, the pack seemed grateful we were leaving, as if our presence were a damper to their grief. Perhaps it was.

    We took the road leading deeper into Dashmar, earning a mutter of disbelief from Marekoff.

    "You'd be better off heading back out of Dashmar, Kymry. Further in you won't find nearly the welcome."

    "Thank ye fer tha' warnin', sair. Ah thinks we'll be takin' our chances tho'. Yer pack seemed tah hae quite tha' business fer us, it did. Others are like tah be in tha' same need."

    "On your head, Kymry. On your head. May all paths be open to you."

    "Thank ye. An' tah ye and yers as weel."

    Drizzle and fog plagued us much of the next few days. We came across no other packs, nor any signs of habitation. Ari had taken each night thus far to sketch out a growing map of this unknown land. We were now four days in and I was truly beginning to despair, though we'd yet to receive any bad news from Lovas.

    Far above, soaring on thermals under a bright clear sky, Merc's cry came to us. It was unusual, a sound I'd not heard before.

    "Merc's spotted someone." Ari stopped the wagon, listening intently. The cry came again, followed by a series of short, sharp shrieks.