The Legend of the Werestag Read Online Free PDF Page A

crunching footsteps and the forest’s profound hush. The sounds were smaller here. The chirp of insects. The subtle cracks as tree limbs splintered overhead. Little currents of rustling that betrayed nocturnal creatures burrowing in the undergrowth. Somewhere far in the distance a confused rooster crowed, a good five hours premature. That happened, sometimes, when the moon was nearly full and so bright.
    Cecily strained her ears. Could one hear moonlight? She almost imagined she could—one clear, silvery note ringing through the woods, like the hum of a celestial tuning fork. The sort of sound one felt in her bones, rather than detected with her ears.
    Beautiful.
    A bright flash caught her eye, like a distant bolt of mercury. She swiveled, tracking it left. It disappeared, and she froze, peering hard into the woods in the direction she’d seen it last. To the left, then up a slight rise…
    There . There it was again. An arrow of white bounding through the shadows. And…could that sharp glint be a prong ?
    She turned and stepped toward it instinctively, then looked down in surprise when her boot failed to create the expected crunch. She’d assumed, in stepping off the path, she’d crush a goodly number of leaves and twigs beneath her heel.
    But she hadn’t, because the smooth-packed furrow of the trail split here, directly under her boots. The right fork led toward Denny and the rest, now several paces ahead. The left path shot off in the direction of the mysterious silver-white flash.
    A thin line separates boldness from stupidity .
    Yes, and she’d crossed it four years ago.
    The little laugh she gave surprised her, as did the ease with which she made a choice. The decision smacked of petulance and self-destructive tendencies. Cecily knew it.
    She turned left anyhow.

Chapter Three
    He waited for her.
    There was no other possible explanation. The stag must have waited for her, patiently gleaming in the moonlight, while she followed the serpentine path through the woods. For after following the trail for just a few minutes, Cecily rounded a tight thicket of brambles to nearly collide with the beast.
    He did not bolt, but stood his ground. Awed, she did the same. She fought to keep her breathing steady, to make no sudden movements. How curious, that after all the cautionary tales of a cursed man-beast—“Werestag,” she heard Portia correcting in her mind—Cecily was concerned about frightening him .
    With a soft snort, the animal gave her his handsome profile and regarded her with one large, dark, intelligent eye. His creamy hide bunched shaggy and soft on the underside of his throat, then stretched taut over his backbone and haunches. One of his rear hooves stamped the ground, as though the power coiled in those haunches wanted to spring free.
    Feeling a little bit silly—and why should she, she talked to horses and dogs all the time—she addressed him. “Can you understand me? My speech, I mean?” When he gave no response, she added, “If you can understand me, nod your head twice. Or tap your hoof, perhaps.” His neck lengthened a fraction, so that his regal crown of antlers struck an even more impressive silhouette. I am not one of your horses or dogs , his proud bearing told her. I do not nod or tap on command .
    Oh, yes. He understood her. Or rather, they understood one another.
    A sense of affinity passed between them, a moment of mutual admiration and respect. Cecily’s fingers itched to stroke the felty thatch beneath his ear, to judge if it was really as soft as it looked. But she sensed it would offend him, to be petted in such a manner.
    Then off he darted again, and she stared after him, entranced by the power and grace in his easy, bounding gait. The creature halted on a distant rise, his sleek form just an iridescent glimmer in the distance.
    Twice more they played this dash-and-follow game, until she was certain they must be well into Corbinsdale land. The distance didn’t concern Cecily.