Memory Hunted Read Online Free PDF Page A

into Kit. She stumbled into a tree with a hiss.
    "Watch it, shepherd. There’s no need to be so jumpy.
I will hear them if they tried to sneak on us."
    "Oh. Yeah. I forgot."
    It seemed like they crouched and weaved for hours. Most
of the leaves and plants may have been gone, but the skeletons of nettles and thorn
plants of all types grabbed at them. More than once Timothy had to stop and untangle
his cloak from a needy thorn bush. Of course Kit had no problems. She barely made
a sound as she walked. The nettles seemed to move out of her way. Timothy felt like
a ram charging through the forest.
    Kit stopped and tugged Timothy to kneel beside her. He
opened his mouth. She laid a finger over his lips and pointed. A sprawling building
merged with the forest. Weathered logs rested on rough gray stone, and vines spidered
the walls. The entire structure looked to have been built around the aging sycamores.
Their white bark contrasted against the dark gray timber. Brown grasses peeked from
the snow on the roof. The building looked more like a hill of fallen stone and logs
than something made by people.
    That roof would make good pasture for a few
sheep in spring. Timothy frowned and glanced at Kit. She caught
his gaze and pointed to the building. Yellow light cut through the windows. The
light wavered through the poor-quality glass. Darkness had descended quickly in
the dense forest. Kit tugged his cloak and pointed beyond the building. Timothy
squinted.
    Off to the side, a stable crouched among the trees. Several
large shapes moved in the dark interior. A few whinnies reached Timothy’s ears.
Another shaped unfolded. A man rested on an old wine cask. He leaned against a rough
support beam. A small flash of orange revealed a pipe. The man took a long draw.
    Timothy glanced back at Kit. Her eyes glowed in the wane
light. He wondered how much she could see. Each passing moment made it more difficult
for Timothy. This close, he could make barely make out her expression. Her ears
flicked under the fabric.
    "Where would they keep her?" Timothy whispered.
    "I saw windows over there." Kit’s breath tickled his
ear. "I might be able to hear her if we get closer."
    "Do you hear Daeric?"
    Kit’s hood rustled. "No. It is too quiet. I doubt the
peacock knows how to skulk, no matter what he says of being a hunter. Let’s go."
    She snatched Timothy’s coat sleeve and led the way. Timothy
concentrated on not tripping.
    They slipped around the building toward one of the fat
sycamores. Its roots spread like a hand clutching the earth. Another cloudy window,
overgrown by ivy, shed yellow light. The ivy’s broad leaves wilted in the cold.
Kit brushed the leaves aside with a bare hand to peek into the window.
    "Kit, I think that—"
    She waved him off. He sighed. If she thought fleas were
bad, sumac was going to be worse. It surprised him how much she didn’t know, considering
she was a fox. In the stories foxes were cunning, wise, and all-knowing. Kit was
certainly cunning and wise, at times. Not that Timothy would admit that to her.
     "Kit, those leaves are—"
    "Shhh."
     "Th-there you are," a voice said from behind them.
    Kit squeaked and fell back from the window to land among
the sumac. Timothy whirled. A young face grinned down at Kit from under a green
bandana. Red-brown hair framed his face. Greens and browns slashed his coat in a
way that made parts of him fade into the woods behind. He wore only a heavy knife
at his belt.
    He held up his palms. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare
you. Daeric is expecting you."
    "Daeric?" Kit asked. Sumac rustled. She stood and shook
leaves from her cloak.
    The young man took a step back as Kit leveled her glare
on him. "I—I don’t want Daeric any madder. Name’s Tell." He turned away and glanced
over his shoulder. "Please, f-follow me."
    Kit frowned at the boy’s back. "I didn’t hear him," she
whispered.
    "I didn’t either," Timothy said. "He was right behind
me."
    "I should have. No one should