cant of his mount.
I
was unable to keep from glancing in his direction. “What did he do?”
“He
did what he did,” Gwyn said, not answering me at all. I bit my tongue, holding
back the sarcastic comment I wanted to say but would do me no good.
“So,”
I said, blowing out a breath, “he’s just part of the Hunt now that you caught
him?” Gwyn nodded slightly, the motion almost lost in the sway of his body.
“But I’m not part of the Hunt.”
“You
weren’t being hunted.”
“Right,
but you still found me,” I pressed.
“Would
you like to be part of the Hunt?” Gwyn asked, finally turning his head toward
me, his eyebrows lifted, wrinkling his pale brow.
“No,”
I said quickly, “I just don’t want to get caught in some damn faerie trap
because I didn’t understand something.”
“Hmph.”
Gwyn nodded, turning his face away from me.
“Did
someone call the Slaugh down on him?” I lifted my chin in the man’s direction,
but Gwyn just ignored my question. Maybe having the Slaugh invoked on you was a
personal matter, something inappropriate for someone else to talk about.
One
of the goblins had jumped from their mount and onto the man’s shoulders,
tugging at his hair and chattering away in his foreign language to the other
goblins who were laughing hysterically. As I watched, tears leaked out of the
man’s eyes, sliding down to splash on the lapels of his jacket. His mouth was
pressed into a hard, thin line, refusing to give voice to the sobs he so
clearly wanted to release. I had no idea what he may have done, but it hurt
something inside of me to see another human there, now trapped forever,
possibly for one stupid mistake.
“Remember
what I said to you, Shay,” Gwyn said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I
turned to look at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “What
you said to me?”
“If
you wish to escape the Outlands, you must do so before you become part of the
Hunt,” he said, leaning slightly in my direction as if to underscore his words.
“Right,
I know,” I said, feeling the confusion pinch my face, but he just shook his
head at me before putting his heels to his horse and taking off ahead of
everyone again. I was left staring after him.
***
After
a while, we finally broke for camp again. I slid clumsily off of my horse,
landing first on my feet, but falling back on my ass in a cloud of dust. I
coughed and waved the dust away from my face. I pushed up to my feet, slower
than normal, feeling the sting in my rear from the long ride and the subsequent
fall. My legs were stiff and sore, pins and needles ran through my twitching
muscles, and when I tried to walk, my steps were more of a waddle. I groaned
and slapped the dirt off of my jeans, but bending over strained my back.
Horse-riding wasn’t as glamorous as I had always thought.
Craning
my head back, I put my hands into my back as I arched it, trying to stretch out
the cramped muscles. I opened my eyes and saw, same as before the ride and
before I went to sleep, the moon was in the exact same spot in the sky. I stood
up straight, but I kept staring at it until I heard the telltale sniff of someone
crying.
The
captured man sat on the ground against the wheel of one of the wagons, his
knees pulled up and his head dipped low as he tried to huddle into the wheel’s
shadow. Others were setting up fires and preparing food for the camp while
still others were erecting their crude shelters, everything just the same as
before, only now we were in the valley between two mountains rather than a
hillside. I dusted my hands off and straightened my sweater before walking over
to the man.
He
wasn’t a large man, maybe a few inches taller than me, but thin and wiry. He
looked to be in his mid-twenties. His eyes and mouth were showing signs of
strain. His hands were tanned and lined and dirt colored his nails. The skin
over his knuckles was split and bloody. His hair was curly and bright
orange-red, hanging
I
was unable to keep from glancing in his direction. “What did he do?”
“He
did what he did,” Gwyn said, not answering me at all. I bit my tongue, holding
back the sarcastic comment I wanted to say but would do me no good.
“So,”
I said, blowing out a breath, “he’s just part of the Hunt now that you caught
him?” Gwyn nodded slightly, the motion almost lost in the sway of his body.
“But I’m not part of the Hunt.”
“You
weren’t being hunted.”
“Right,
but you still found me,” I pressed.
“Would
you like to be part of the Hunt?” Gwyn asked, finally turning his head toward
me, his eyebrows lifted, wrinkling his pale brow.
“No,”
I said quickly, “I just don’t want to get caught in some damn faerie trap
because I didn’t understand something.”
“Hmph.”
Gwyn nodded, turning his face away from me.
“Did
someone call the Slaugh down on him?” I lifted my chin in the man’s direction,
but Gwyn just ignored my question. Maybe having the Slaugh invoked on you was a
personal matter, something inappropriate for someone else to talk about.
One
of the goblins had jumped from their mount and onto the man’s shoulders,
tugging at his hair and chattering away in his foreign language to the other
goblins who were laughing hysterically. As I watched, tears leaked out of the
man’s eyes, sliding down to splash on the lapels of his jacket. His mouth was
pressed into a hard, thin line, refusing to give voice to the sobs he so
clearly wanted to release. I had no idea what he may have done, but it hurt
something inside of me to see another human there, now trapped forever,
possibly for one stupid mistake.
“Remember
what I said to you, Shay,” Gwyn said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I
turned to look at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. “What
you said to me?”
“If
you wish to escape the Outlands, you must do so before you become part of the
Hunt,” he said, leaning slightly in my direction as if to underscore his words.
“Right,
I know,” I said, feeling the confusion pinch my face, but he just shook his
head at me before putting his heels to his horse and taking off ahead of
everyone again. I was left staring after him.
***
After
a while, we finally broke for camp again. I slid clumsily off of my horse,
landing first on my feet, but falling back on my ass in a cloud of dust. I
coughed and waved the dust away from my face. I pushed up to my feet, slower
than normal, feeling the sting in my rear from the long ride and the subsequent
fall. My legs were stiff and sore, pins and needles ran through my twitching
muscles, and when I tried to walk, my steps were more of a waddle. I groaned
and slapped the dirt off of my jeans, but bending over strained my back.
Horse-riding wasn’t as glamorous as I had always thought.
Craning
my head back, I put my hands into my back as I arched it, trying to stretch out
the cramped muscles. I opened my eyes and saw, same as before the ride and
before I went to sleep, the moon was in the exact same spot in the sky. I stood
up straight, but I kept staring at it until I heard the telltale sniff of someone
crying.
The
captured man sat on the ground against the wheel of one of the wagons, his
knees pulled up and his head dipped low as he tried to huddle into the wheel’s
shadow. Others were setting up fires and preparing food for the camp while
still others were erecting their crude shelters, everything just the same as
before, only now we were in the valley between two mountains rather than a
hillside. I dusted my hands off and straightened my sweater before walking over
to the man.
He
wasn’t a large man, maybe a few inches taller than me, but thin and wiry. He
looked to be in his mid-twenties. His eyes and mouth were showing signs of
strain. His hands were tanned and lined and dirt colored his nails. The skin
over his knuckles was split and bloody. His hair was curly and bright
orange-red, hanging
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