Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [44]
She had the wilderness kit whistle in her backpack, and now could not imagine why. Because whatever the emergency was that might cause her to blow the whistle, there was no saying that whatever answered it wouldn’t be far worse. It could be just the thing that allowed the Snow Queen’s flying monkeys to find her.
Flying snow monkeys, probably.
The path led Hazel up an incline, and now she was moving along a ridge above the ravine. From somewhere down below she could hear a stream running. In another world she was on a field trip surrounded by all her old classmates, the guide was yammering on about potentially useful information while Hazel dreamt of magic.
It was then that she realized that the tick tock sound of the clock had never quieted—it was as if she was still standing next to it. She stopped for a moment and looked around, as if maybe she hadn’t moved at all. But she had. And yet there was the sound: Tick tock. Tick tock.
Hazel stiffened. It made no sense—when she’d entered the woods she hadn’t heard it at all, and it had gotten louder as she approached it. This is the way things worked. Now that it was in her ears, though, it seemed it would never go away.
She took a deep breath and moved on, her feet walking in rhythm with the clock. After some time, she came upon a fork in the path. Hazel looked from one side to the other and bit her lip, then consulted the compass. One was heading north and one eastward. Hazel was looking for a witch made of snow with a sleigh pulled by wolves. She would go north.
She walked on, consulting the compass when she needed to, always heading the direction it pointed. She was just thinking how odd it was that there was no one else in the woods when she felt a shaking on the ground and heard hoofbeats in the distance. They were coming toward her. Hazel stopped and looked behind her, but could see nothing.
She did not know these woods. She did not know the rules. She did not know what manner of man patrolled the paths. All she knew was her job, and that was to get Jack and get out.
Clutching the precious compass, Hazel left the path and scurried into the trees to hide. She ducked behind a particularly wide one, and slowly peeked around to see who else was in the woods.
The hoofbeats approached and the ground beneath Hazel vibrated in response. Hazel moved her head out as far as she dared.
A man was on the path, riding a sturdy chestnut horse. The man was wearing a flannel shirt and a cloth hat. On one side of the horse hung a saddle bag and a long, old-fashioned ax.
Hazel understood. He was a woodsman. In a woods full of wolves there were woodsmen, too. Her heart eased.
The horse made a noise and stopped suddenly, pawing at the ground with its hoof. The woodsman whispered something to it and patted its flank. He reached into his saddlebag and began rummaging inside it. Something seemed to catch his attention then, and he looked around, eyes searching the trees. Hazel darted back, then wondered if she needed to. Maybe he could help her.
She peeked out again and the woodsman’s posture had changed. He was erect, watchful. One hand held taut the reins of the horse, who was stomping agitatedly, and another clutched the handle of the ax.
Hazel felt the expectant hush in the air, like the trees were waiting for something. If she took a breath, the sound would shatter the silence. And then the horse let out a noise and the woodsman relaxed his grip on the ax and lifted the reins.
Her heart pounded. She’d asked a wolf and two ravens about the woman in white. It might be time to ask an actual person.
She gathered herself and stepped out from the tree. There, standing between her and the path, where a moment before had been nothing, was another wolf.
This one was bigger than the first, with a thick brown and black coat and creepy blue eyes. Hazel froze. She heard the sound of the horse stirring. The wolf was in the shadows, too far behind the man for him to see. And the creature had no interest in him at all—all its energy was fixed on her.
Hazel could scream. There