Hunter's Woman by Kaitlyn O'Connor Page A

then he was easily as dangerous as a tolk, for he was as big and his teeth sharp enough to rend her flesh.
    She took another step back.  She was on the point of whirling to run when the tael leapt at her.  Uttering a shriek of fright, she jumped back, tripped and went down even as the tael struck her chest.  Disoriented by the fall, it took several moments for Aslyn to realize that the tael was standing over her, on top of her, his forepaws planted firmly on her breasts.
    She stared up at him, holding her breath, fearful that any moment he would go for her throat and rip her to shreds.  Instead, after several long, agonizing moments of fright, the tael stepped off of her.  Watching him warily, Aslyn lay still for several moments, hoping that he would be satisfied with having felled her and flee into the woods once more.  Instead, he sat, still watching her. 
    She frowned, wondering at his curious behavior.  It was almost as if he was tame.  Slowly, she sat up.  When the tael made no attempt to pounce upon her again, she began struggling to her feet.  As she placed her palm against the ground to push herself up, however, the tael darted forward, nipping her hand with his sharp teeth.  She wasn’t even aware of the branch she’d clutched when she’d fallen until the tael darted at her, but the moment he did, she swung, catching him on the shoulder.  What he might have done had she not struck him, she was never to know, but the branch was sufficient to dissuade his attack.  He broke off with a yelp and loped off, disappearing against the background of the snow long before he could have reached the trees. 
    Aslyn stared after him, trying to spot him against the mounds of snow, but she caught no more than a glimpse of him before he vanished completely.  The throb in her hand finally caught her attention and she lifted it to examine it.  Despite the blood, she discovered it was little more than a scratch.  Undoubtedly, he had only caught it with the edge of his teeth.  If he’d had time to bite, he would have inflicted a good deal more damage.
    A sense of uneasiness filled her, and she glanced back in the direction that the tael had disappeared, wondering if it had been mad after all.  As bizarre as its behavior, however, she knew it could not have been mad.  If it had been, nothing short of killing it would have stopped its attack.
    Finally, she was forced by her stomach’s demands to dismiss the incident.  Reaching down, she grasped a handful of snow and rubbed it across the back of her hand until the bleeding slowed.  Returning to the cottage, she cleaned the wound thoroughly, then soaked it in a dish of steeped herbs and salt to promote healing and prevent the wound from putrefying.  When she was satisfied, she collected her cook pot and walked down to the well to fill it.  
    She had just filled the pot and turned to start back when a woman’s screams rent the air.  The sound tore through Aslyn like the slash of a knife.  She dropped the pot from suddenly nerveless fingers.  Her head whipped around from side to side as she searched for the source of the horrible sounds.  Around her, she saw the villagers pouring from their cottages as they, too, were drawn by the cries.  Almost as one, they began to move, slowly, but quickly gaining speed.  Many grasped broomsticks, axes … anything they came across as they rushed toward the shattering cries.
    As one, they halted abruptly as they reached the next street and saw a man and woman on their knees in the middle of the muddy road.  The man was covered in blood.  The woman was holding a wad of bloodied rags, rocking back and forth.  With an effort, Aslyn forced her feet forward, moving almost like a sleepwalker until she was near enough to recognize the woman. 
    It was Ana Halard, little Hoan’s mother. 
    A terrible dread seized Aslyn as she stared at the distraught woman, studied the torn rags the woman was clutching.  Even as one of the