terrifying blemish on its screaming beauty.
The animal made the sound of a child, crying out for its parents. Its companion had already bolted. Tallis noticed its sleek shape moving among the trees, further along the stream. She felt instantly sick. The blood that poured from the wound in the deer below her had begun to swirl in the crystal water. It staggered to its feet, then collapsed on to its forelegs, as if kneeling in honour of some icon. It turned its head slightly and its tongue appeared, touching the water into which it slowly and gracefully subsided.
Tallis was about to run from her hiding place, to go to the dead animal, when a part of the woodland floor before her rose, straightened, stretched out to become, to her astonished eyes, the full figure of a man wearing the skin of a stag.
He had been crouching within her field of vision all the time and she had not noticed him. No doubt it was he who had shot the arrow and that too she had failed tosee, but he was carrying a bow that was stretched and already had a second arrow nocked and ready. Indeed, as Tallis saw him, she gasped …
And instantly he had turned, staring at her through the flapping mask of the stag’s facial hide that covered his own face.
Tallis felt wind on her cheek. When she ducked and looked round she saw the arrow quivering in the tree behind her, its flights cut from white feathers, its shaft painted in green and red stripes.
The man watched the place where she crouched. When she lifted her head slightly he saw her, held up a hand, fingers spread. It was a small hand, delicate fingers. In the instant before he turned to run to the stream Tallis formed the impression that he was young and unlikely to attack her further. His head and shoulders were covered by the stag’s hide, and the antlers had been cut down to two stubby projections. He had watched her through the dead holes of the eyes, but the eyes of the man had been bright, catching the sun’s dying light. His legs had been clad in hide boots, reaching to the knee and tied with crossed leather. A sheathed knife was strapped to the outside of his right leg.
These head and lower leg coverings apart, he was quite naked. His body was slender, tautly muscled, very pale. It contrasted astonishingly with the body of her father, who was the only other man whom Tallis had seen naked. Where her father was darkly haired, heavily built, large in stomach and leg, this strange apparition was in all ways slighter and lighter; a boy, perhaps and yet the contours of his body were the contours of a man, the lines that defined the muscles held hard, the mark of an athlete.
All of these thoughts, all of the sensations, were contained within a moment.
The stag-youth was upon the fallen fawn, dismemberingit, slitting its belly so that the streaming entrails, glistening purple sludge, drained from the corpse into the water.
A knife cut, then a second, and the mass of guts had fallen away. The stag-youth slung the body across his shoulders and picked up his bow. He ran along the stream, bent low, and disappeared into the concealing darkness of the woods further along the Wyndbrook.
For a while there was a stunned, uncanny silence. Tallis watched the stained water. She kept thinking: Hunter’s Brook. I named it years ago. I named it for this very moment …
Then she saw the movement of the smaller fawn as it came back to the place of death and quickly sniffed the air.
Tallis stood. The animal saw her and bolted, gambolling away from the steam, up the field to the stark ridge where the carrion birds pecked for worms. Tallis followed it, wading across the stream and calling to the creature.
‘It wasn’t me! Wait! If you’re Broken Boy’s I want to be able to give you my scent!
Wait!
’
She ran up the hill stumbling and grabbing at the tight grass. The fawn vanished over the ridge, bob tail high, hind legs kicking in sadness and determined escape.
Tallis did not give up the pursuit. She was
The animal made the sound of a child, crying out for its parents. Its companion had already bolted. Tallis noticed its sleek shape moving among the trees, further along the stream. She felt instantly sick. The blood that poured from the wound in the deer below her had begun to swirl in the crystal water. It staggered to its feet, then collapsed on to its forelegs, as if kneeling in honour of some icon. It turned its head slightly and its tongue appeared, touching the water into which it slowly and gracefully subsided.
Tallis was about to run from her hiding place, to go to the dead animal, when a part of the woodland floor before her rose, straightened, stretched out to become, to her astonished eyes, the full figure of a man wearing the skin of a stag.
He had been crouching within her field of vision all the time and she had not noticed him. No doubt it was he who had shot the arrow and that too she had failed tosee, but he was carrying a bow that was stretched and already had a second arrow nocked and ready. Indeed, as Tallis saw him, she gasped …
And instantly he had turned, staring at her through the flapping mask of the stag’s facial hide that covered his own face.
Tallis felt wind on her cheek. When she ducked and looked round she saw the arrow quivering in the tree behind her, its flights cut from white feathers, its shaft painted in green and red stripes.
The man watched the place where she crouched. When she lifted her head slightly he saw her, held up a hand, fingers spread. It was a small hand, delicate fingers. In the instant before he turned to run to the stream Tallis formed the impression that he was young and unlikely to attack her further. His head and shoulders were covered by the stag’s hide, and the antlers had been cut down to two stubby projections. He had watched her through the dead holes of the eyes, but the eyes of the man had been bright, catching the sun’s dying light. His legs had been clad in hide boots, reaching to the knee and tied with crossed leather. A sheathed knife was strapped to the outside of his right leg.
These head and lower leg coverings apart, he was quite naked. His body was slender, tautly muscled, very pale. It contrasted astonishingly with the body of her father, who was the only other man whom Tallis had seen naked. Where her father was darkly haired, heavily built, large in stomach and leg, this strange apparition was in all ways slighter and lighter; a boy, perhaps and yet the contours of his body were the contours of a man, the lines that defined the muscles held hard, the mark of an athlete.
All of these thoughts, all of the sensations, were contained within a moment.
The stag-youth was upon the fallen fawn, dismemberingit, slitting its belly so that the streaming entrails, glistening purple sludge, drained from the corpse into the water.
A knife cut, then a second, and the mass of guts had fallen away. The stag-youth slung the body across his shoulders and picked up his bow. He ran along the stream, bent low, and disappeared into the concealing darkness of the woods further along the Wyndbrook.
For a while there was a stunned, uncanny silence. Tallis watched the stained water. She kept thinking: Hunter’s Brook. I named it years ago. I named it for this very moment …
Then she saw the movement of the smaller fawn as it came back to the place of death and quickly sniffed the air.
Tallis stood. The animal saw her and bolted, gambolling away from the steam, up the field to the stark ridge where the carrion birds pecked for worms. Tallis followed it, wading across the stream and calling to the creature.
‘It wasn’t me! Wait! If you’re Broken Boy’s I want to be able to give you my scent!
Wait!
’
She ran up the hill stumbling and grabbing at the tight grass. The fawn vanished over the ridge, bob tail high, hind legs kicking in sadness and determined escape.
Tallis did not give up the pursuit. She was
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