Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [53]
Picking up the fishing pole, the youth started on the upstream trail. His step was firm, his intentions clear. He had a fine creel and a sharp knife, as well as flint, tinder, and the warm wool blanket wrapped at his waist.
Anger propelled him as he strode quickly along the trail. He decided he would walk until sunset and then hope to catch a fish or two before dark.
As to where he would sleep, he had a good chance of finding a river-bank cave or a hollow tree. Often he had camped with his brother, using nothing more than the arching foliage of a weeping willow as their shelter. If he had to, he could do that tonight as well.
But Wain wouldn’t be there, would never be there again. Thoughts like this kept intruding on his anger, threatening once again to drag him down with grief. He resisted courageously, though more than once he was startled to realize that he was crying.
A crashing in the brush nearby nearly sent him sprawling. He drew the thin-bladed fishing knife reflex-ively, brandishing blade and pole as he heard a large form pushing through the trees. Then a black shape burst into view, ears flattened against its skull as it uttered a shrill neigh of fear.
With a thunder of hoof-beats, the animal turned to gallop along the trail, swiftly disappearing from view.
“Nightmare!” he cried again, his hopes bizarrely inflamed by the sight of the once familiar creature, however ill-tempered, that had shared the village with him.
But then he was weeping again, this time in frustration, as the horse vanished from his view. He plodded along, his earlier energy rapidly dissipating into bleak despair.
Nearly an hour later he came upon the animal once more, now standing passively at the side of the trail. Walking softly, approaching from the rear, Danyal was startled to hear a gentle, feminine voice-someone who sounded very much like one of the girls from the village.
“Have a taste of this, you poor old mare. I know you’ve had a bad scare.
Believe me, I know what that’s like. There, take another bite. There’s plenty more apples on the ground in the orchard.”
Danyal’s next step brought him in view of the speaker, and he was surprised to see a kendermaid. He recognized her race immediately.
Several times a year, one or more of the diminutive wanderers would travel through Waterton, to the dismay of honest and gods-fearing folk.
But they had always been friendly and entertaining to the village’s children.
This one was the size of a human girl, but wisps of gray streaked her thick, dark hair, a mane that she had bound in the typical kender topknot, except that it split into two tails, one draped over each of her shoulders.
Her face was round and becoming; only the spiderweb of wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes suggested that this was other than a pretty girl. That, and the pointed tips of her ears, Danyal realized, as he recognized the elfin shapes framing her face. She wore practical and well-worn leggings, moccasins, and jacket, and had an assortment of pouches and purses dangling from her neck, shoulders, and belt.
Her eyes widened as she saw him, but then she smoothly raised a finger to her lips, silencing him before he could speak. She pulled an apple from a voluminous bag at her side and allowed Nightmare to nibble on the ripe fruit. At the same time, she slipped a halter line over the horse’s muzzle and carefully drew the rope over the now upstanding ears.
Danyal, having previously seen this maneuver attempted upon Nightmare, inevitably with disastrous results, was surprised when the horse nickered softly, then probed toward the pouch in search of another apple.
“There, there.” Now that he watched her speak, he could see that the stranger spoke with a maternal, soothing tone that belied her diminutive size. She gently patted the horse on the neck, and Nightmare’s head bobbed in response-or perhaps the motion was simply an effort to chew the next apple.
“Hello,” she said at last, looking at Danyal with an expression of sympathy