Merlin's Booke Read Online Free PDF Page B

earth. Then it sank its talons into its prey and looked about fiercely.
    The man walked quickly but without excess motion to the hawk. He nodded almost imperceptibly at her, knelt, and put one hand on her back and wings while with the other hooded her so swiftly the boy did not even see it till it was done. Then the man stood, placed the bird on his gloved wrist, gathered up the dead lark and the lure with his free hand, and walked smoothly toward the part of the forest where he had come from.
    Only when the man had disappeared into the underbrush did the boy unwind himself from the tree. The man, the falcon, the dead bird were all so fascinating, he could not help himself. He had to see more. So he ran over to the clearing’s edge and, after no more man a moment’s hesitation like the falcon hovering, plunged in after them.
    The day being mild but somewhat blowy, the clouds ripping across the sky, the boy did not hear as clearly as usual. But the man’s path through the underbrush was well marked by broken boughs and the deep impression of his boot heels. He was not hard to follow.
    Cautiously at first, then with a kind of eager anticipation, the boy went on. In his eagerness he neglected to note anything about the place, though that in itself was not dangerous as it would be simple enough to find the way back along the same wide, careless swath. The thorny berry bushes scratched his legs, leaving a thin red map from hip to ankle. Once he trod on a nettle. But nothing could dampen his excitement, not even the small prickle of fear he felt. If anything that sharpened it.
    Several hours passed like moments, and still the boy remained eagerly on the track. Only twice he had actually glimpsed the man. Once he saw his back, broad and covered with a leathern coat of some sort. Coat. That was a word suddenly returned to him. Then he thought, jerkin. And the two words, so dissimilar yet peculiarly so much the same, distressed him. He stopped for a minute and said each of them aloud.
    â€œCoat.” The word was short, sharp, like a bark.
    â€œJerkin.” He liked that word better and said it over again several more times. “Jerkin, jerkin, jerkin.” Then he smiled and looked up. The man was gone.
    The boy found the easy trail and followed, running at first to make up the lost time, then settling into a steady walk.
    The second time the man turned and looked right at him. The boy froze and willed himself to disappear into the brush the way a new fawn and badgers and even the bright foxes could. It must have worked. The man looked at him but did not seem to see him, stroked the falcon’s shoulder once, whispered something the boy could not hear to the bird, then turned away and walked on.
    The boy followed but a little more carefully this time, stopping frequently to hide behind a tree or bushes or blend into the dense brush.
    He was watching the path so carefully, its having changed from a trail of broken undergrowth to a worn away trail packed down by a succession of feet. He could read the man’s faint boot marks, the sharp impressions of deer feet, the softer scrapings of badger, and even the scratchings of grouse. The path and his slow reading of it occupied him and he did not pay attention to what lay ahead. So he was surprised by the turning in the road that opened into a new clearing and by the farmhouse near the center of it.
    The farmhouse explained the new scents that he had been ignoring.
    As he crept into the clearing and hesitated by the trees, a sudden clamor greeted the man ahead of him. Sharp, excited yips and the chipping and clucking of birds. Dogs and hens. Those familiar words burst through the boy. “Dogs” and “hens.” He mouthed them.
    There was a high whinnying from one of the two outbuildings, the one on the left side of the house.
    â€œHorse!” the boy cried out, his own voice reminding him of the size of horses, enormous beasts with soft, broad backs