Moonkind (Winterling) Read Online Free PDF Page B

long strands of chopped-off hair from her shoulders. “It’ll be a quick trip,” she said. “I won’t be away for too long. I need you to stay here and make sure everything’s all right while I’m gone. All right?”
    Twig and Fray nodded grudging agreement and followed Fer down the ladder to the ground, where Rook was waiting.
    Fray stalked past Fer and up to Rook; she grabbed the front of his coat and snarled something down at him.
    Rook twisted in her grip and growled something back. Then she shoved him, and he stumbled away. “Stupid wolf,” he muttered as Fer came up.
    “Can you blame her for not liking you very much?” Fer asked.
    He didn’t answer, but Fer heard dark grumblings as he followed her to the Way. They waited in silence while the sun sank behind the trees. The sky darkened and the air grew chilly. Finally the first star appeared. Fer’s bee lifted from the sleeve of her jacket and circled them once.
    “You’ll be on your best behavior, won’t you, Rook?” Fer asked.
    Looking unusually serious, he nodded. “I will, yes.”
    “Remember, you promised,” Fer said as the Way opened.
    “I won’t forget.” Rook reached out, and she took his hand, and they stepped through the Way together.
     
    Rook stayed quiet as he followed Fer from the Lake of All Ways to the nathe. Fer was taking a chance on him—he was well aware of it—so he’d try not to be too tricksy.
    The nathe was the center of all the lands. It wasn’t a palace, exactly; it was like a huge, bark-covered tree stump, with moss creeping up its gray walls and roots that plunged deep into the ground. Inside, rooms and passages and a great hall called the nathewyr had been carved out of the wood.
    No puck except for him had ever visited the nathe, and the last time he’d been here, they’d tried to kill him.
    As he followed Fer up the gnarled steps that led to one of the nathe’s many doors, they were met by a nathe-warden, a guard with rough, brown skin and greenish hair that reminded him of willow-wands. The warden glared at him.
    Rook bared his teeth in a sharp grin, and felt for his shifter-tooth in his pocket. Go ahead, willow-warden, his grin said. I’m ready for you .
    “Lady Gwynnefar,” the guard said, “you are welcome to the nathe, but this puck is not.”
    Fer shrugged. “He stays, or I leave,” she said, and swept past the warden. Rook ducked past the guard too, to catch up with her. As they stepped into a polished hallway, she glanced aside at him. “It’s amazing how many people don’t like you, Rook,” she said.
    “Well, I don’t like them either,” he grumbled. And he hadn’t actually bitten the nathe-warden. He was on his best behavior, after all.
    She kept walking. They were passing through a long hallway lit by glowing crystals when a short, gray-skinned stick-person with a tuft of green hair on its head popped out of another hallway. When it spoke, its voice was surprisingly deep and rough, like bark. “Lady!”
    Fer stopped; Rook stepped up beside her. “What is it?” she asked.
    The stick-person bobbed a bow. “My master. Arenthiel. He wishes to see you. Come!” It pointed toward the other passageway.
    “We-ell, I don’t know,” Fer said slowly. A lock of her short-cut hair curled over her forehead and she brushed it away. “I came here to see the High Ones.”
    “See them, too,” the stick-person said. “See Arenthiel now. To talk.”
    Fer frowned, but Rook could see that she was about to agree. “Wait,” he interrupted. “Arenthiel is your enemy, Fer.” And the enemy of the pucks. “It could be a trap.”
    “Rook, we’re in the nathe,” Fer answered. “It’s not a trap. Arenthiel was broken after he lost the contest and failed to steal my lands from me. You were asleep when it happened, but if you’d seen it, you’d know that he’s not any threat to me.”
    “Oh sure he’s not,” he muttered.
    “Just talk!” put in the stick-person.
    “I’m going to see him,”