Sentinelspire - Mark Sehestedt [3]
"You found something?" asked the man.
"Yes, Master," said Lewan. "Down by the water."
They kept to the cover of the trees and brush as much as they could, but nearer the stream it was all grass. Between two tall tussocks was a bare patch of soil that had been moistened by the rain of two nights ago. It had dried since, preserving the four prints quite nicely. Looking at them, Berun's brows knit together. They kept their voices low.
"What kind of animal is it, Lewan?"
"A large cat," he replied. "Steppe tiger, I think."
Berun gave him a slight smile, though he didn't look up. "What else?"
"A female. The rear paws come down slightly to the outside of those of the front. Wider hips means a female-even in cats. Yes?
Berun's grin widened. "Yes, Lewan. Even in cats. And how big is she?"
Lewan looked at the prints. They were large, as big as his outstretched palm. The soil would have been softer after the rain, and the prints were deep.
"She's big," said Lewan. "I'd guess at least eight hundred pounds. Maybe more."
"A good guess," said Berun. "Well done, Lewan."
"What now, Master? It seems she's headed back into the forest. She isn't spraying any markers, doesn't seem to be establishing any territory, and she hasn't hit any farms in eleven days. She abandoned that last deer half-eaten. She's wandering all over the place. I don't understand."
Berun's smile disappeared and he became grim again. "Nor do I." He looked up at the sun. "We'll keep tracking her while the light is strong. If she keeps heading deeper into the wood, we'll find a good place to bed down. I don't want to hunt a steppe tiger in the dark."
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They tracked the tiger throughout the rest of the morning and into midday. They did not hurry, keeping to cover and taking care to move quietly. Although the tiger had taken the deer three days ago and probably wouldn't be hunting again, it didn't hurt to be cautious. Tigers were ambush hunters, and this tiger was already a puzzle, hitting three farms in the last month, slaughtering mostly sheep, but at the last one she'd forsaken the sheep and taken the shepherd. She'd kept to no set range, so she wasn't a newcomer seeking territory. At least not yet.
Just past midday they came upon another stream, one of the many that crawled out of the Khopet-Dag to the west. They were farther from the wood now, and the few trees rising out of the steppe hugged the water where they starved out the thicker grasses. Lewan found fresh tracks near the water and called to his master.
"Look, Master," he said, keeping his voice low. "These are less than half a day old."
The men crossed the stream where the tracks did, moving swiftly so as not to be in open sight for long. The water never rose above their knees, but it was cold; it had probably been snow on some distant peak only a few days ago. As they were about to set foot on the opposite shore, Berun came to an abrupt halt and motioned for Lewan to do the same. He approached the wet soil on the opposite bank with utmost care, crouching low and choosing his ground so as not to step on any tracks. Lewan noted that the fluid grace had left his movements. His master was stiff and hesitant. Something had startled him.
"What is it, Master?" he whispered.
When Berun didn't reply, Lewan stepped forward, keeping low, his hands on his knees to preserve his balance. He followed his master's gaze.
A mass of tracks, many of them trampling others. Among the few clear ones were more tiger tracks. Judging by the size, it was the same beast covering the same ground a few times, but in one smooth patch of soil was a boot print, distinct and undisturbed. It was big and deep. Whoever had made it was at least as tall as Berun;-and much heavier.
Scratched into the boot print-probably with a twig or a thick stalk of grass-were letters. Lewan was by no means a master of letters. In his sixteen years, his master had taught