Shepherd Hunted by Christopher Kincaid Page B

face. It felt like he had had that heat on his cheeks for a long time. It felt odd to blink and not have his eyes burn his eyelids. No matter. Today was the day. He pulled the necklace from his pocket. The delicate silver chain caught the sunlight streaming into his study. A small tear-shaped moonstone set in simple filigree rotated in the light. He wore a heavier chain with an emerald against his chest. It seemed fitting to wear a stone the same color as Kit’s eyes. Well, not the same color. Her eyes were deeper than any emerald, but it was close.
    He pocketed the moonstone and pushed away from the desk. Today was a good day. The smell of smoke was strong in his nostrils as he stepped outside their small home.
    Kit sat on her favorite bench in the garden. White tufted ears flicked toward him. Her red hair danced over her shoulders, and her white-tipped tail gave her a measure of grace no human woman could match. She wore a green dress—pale compared to her eyes—that hugged her perfect small chest. Timothy was surprised his face didn’t heat again. Who said large chests were best? He dug into his pocket and pulled out the necklace.
    “Timothy!” Kit suddenly yelled. She ran across the gardens, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him. Hard. “Timothy!”
    His eyes snapped open. A young girl stood over him. Her odd oval eyes were tight. They reminded him of Kit’s eyes, but color was wrong. These eyes were brown, and dirt smeared the face. Kit didn’t like dirt on her face. He squinted against the harsh orange light and lifted a hand to shade his eyes. His hand froze midway. Blue veins stood out against skin stretched tight over tendon and bone. Faded purple blotches speckled his too white skin. Weakness weighed on him, as if he had worked shearing an endless line of sheep and pulled a cart of books up a hill that stretched into forever.
    He reached through his memory holes. He remembered Kit with Trent. It felt like years ago. Evelyn. Her hazel gaze ghosted through his mental fingers. He knew he had seen his mother and spent time with her. More holes.
    The dark-haired girl stared down with concern. Who is she? “Finally! I thought I was never going to wake you. You’re the shepherd, right?”
    Timothy’s tongue was dust. He tried to work his voice but nothing would come. He nodded. He pulled himself to a sitting position, arms shaking with the effort. He looked up to find the girl holding a cup. He snatched it and gulped. Water scraped his throat.
    “Thank you.” His voice rasped. “What is your name?”
    The girl refilled the cup from a chipped blue pitcher. “Yuzu. I—Kit sent me to find you.”
    Timothy scratched his cheek. A thick beard scratched back at his fingers. Just how long had he been sick? A long time, apparently.
    “Kit? Where is she?”
    Yuzu glanced away. “She is in trouble.”
    Timothy slid his legs over the edge of the bed. His bare feet looked much like his hands. Pale and weak. His stomach rubbed his backbone, but food would have to wait.
    “Yuzu, would you mind finding my boots?”
    “You don’t look strong enough to stand, let alone walk.” The girl pursed her lips. “Colt was in better shape than you.” She laid a hand against his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, at least.”
    “I’m fine. Walking will help.”
    Yuzu studied him. “As stubborn as Colt too. All right. Your boots are right over there. It’s a good thing I am used to helping children with their shoes.”
    Timothy shook his head. The girl certainly knew Kit, judging by her tongue.
    It took both of them to get his socks and boots pulled over his bony feet. Timothy struggled to lift each leg. Yuzu watched him with wariness and concern. He managed to gain his feet with Yuzu’s help. His knees shook, and he willed them not to buckle. There was too much to do for that, but it felt good to stand.
    “Wrap your arm around my waist,” the girl said.
    Timothy blinked.
    Yuzu sighed and tucked his arm around her