BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale Read Online Free PDF

through the four-toed paw print in the snow. He laid the mitt beside it and was disturbed to see they were nearly the same size.
    “What kind of cat is that large, yet with a print that shallow? It almost floats on the snow,” he said, mystified. He studied another one of the paw prints.
    “Diamond shaped… diamond shaped… I know that shape. Why do I know it?” He sat there in the snow and stared at the trail the prints made. A lost, painful memory surfaced. His eyes widened, and again he looked at the prints in earnest.
    Picking up his mitt, he looked around, worried. He didn’t want to say out loud what he was thinking—out of superstition—but in his mind he kept saying dire lynx? over and over.
    Dire lynx were larger, far more aggressive versions of their small cousins. Sightings were rare enough that most people doubted their existence, believing them just a fiction created to scare children. Pierre knew better—one had fatally wounded his father.
    “How long have we been tracking the same prey?” he muttered, deeply worried that he hadn’t noticed it before. He started following the lynx’s trail backward, curious about where the lynx had come from, and how long they had been hunting side-by-side.
    At first, Pierre only intended to backtrack a little, but the further he went back, the more curious he became. Once the trail reached his own cabin, Pierre froze. “You… you weren’t tracking the deer,” he stammered, his heart racing. “It’s me… I’m your prey.”
    He went into his cabin to get his flintlock pistol. He wondered for a moment if he should barricade himself inside, but he knew that if he did, then when he would eventually stepped out, the dire lynx would strike. Pierre steeled his nerves and headed back out.
    He quickly returned to where the kids had zoomed through and scared off the deer, desperate to pick up the trail of where the lynx had gone. Every shadow made him jump and prepare to defend himself. Worse than feeling old, Pierre now felt vulnerable.
    Then, he heard a sound that chilled his blood. He turned to see the giant, snow-white dire lynx standing on a fallen tree twenty feet away. The lynx’s low, rumbling growl was foreboding. Its pale blue eyes fixed on Pierre. The predator was telling him that at the time of its choosing, it was going to kill him.
    Pierre felt cold inside, and his hands and legs felt numb. Thirty years ago, he’d have dared to draw his pistol, or whip out a javelin and throw it, but he knew he was no longer fast enough. He couldn’t believe he’d neglected having a weapon ready in his right hand, at all times, having put them away so he could walk and crouch better.
    The last thing he wanted was to be left mortally wounded in the snow. Sorrow and regret at having lived a hermit’s life crept into his thoughts. So many things, he thought, so many things I should have changed.
    The dire lynx started to coil up. Its growl got louder. Just then, the loud voices of the kids returned from out of nowhere. With the lynx momentarily distracted, Pierre sprang up and ran for his life.

    The Yellow Hoods were having fun carving up the late autumn snow on their skid-mounted sail-carts. They were just about to start the long sail back to the main road and return home when Richy noticed something.
    “Hey, did you see that?” he asked, pointing to some trees.
    Elly looked over her shoulder but saw nothing. “No,” she yelled back, over the sounds of the flapping sails and the skids moving over the snow.
    “I thought I saw a guy running—like he was scared. Maybe I’m wrong,” said Richy.
    Tee quickly studied Richy’s face. “Turn around, guys. Richy, you saw something. Let’s investigate. If it’s nothing, there should still be enough sunlight for the sail home.”
    “You were right the last two times, Richy. Let’s see if it’s lucky number three,” replied Elly, turning her steering wheel and managing her sail in the strong wind.

    Over the