The Burning Shadow by Michelle Paver Page B

the dark.

    Hylas burrowed into the ferns and willed himself to sleep.
    No use. Those faint, despairing yowls wouldn’t let him.
    â€œOh, shut
up,
” he muttered.
    More yowls. That lion cub sounded desperate.
    Then it stopped, and that was worse.
    With a snarl, Hylas sat up.
    As the sky turned gray, he tracked the lion cub through the forest. It occurred to him that where there was a cub, there would also be a lioness—but then he remembered the skeleton he’d found the day before. That must have been its mother; Kreon had probably killed her, as he’d killed its father.
    It turned out that the cub hadn’t gotten far, it had fallen down an old mine shaft a few paces into the thicket. A buzzard was perched on the edge, peering down at it. Hylas shooed the bird away.
    The lion cub saw him and gave a plaintive mew. It was small, filthy, and shaking with terror.
    â€œWell what d’you want me to do?” he said crossly. “You should’ve looked where you were going!”
    The cub stopped mewing and stared up at him with great round golden eyes.
    Hylas threw down his axe, found a fallen sapling, and shoved it down the hole. “There. Now climb out and leave me in peace!”
    The cub wobbled onto the sapling and fell off. It tried again. And again. Hylas blew out. Lions aren’t the best climbers, and this cub was the worst he’d seen. It didn’t help that it seemed to be lame in one forepaw.
    It had wrought havoc with his kill, but he couldn’t leave it in there to starve, and the shaft wasn’t deep. Muttering, he shinned down the sapling.
    The hole was cramped, and stank of lion scat. The cub backed into a corner and hissed. Hylas grabbed it by the scruff, plonked it on the sapling, and gave its furry bottom a shove. “Go on, up you go!”
    The cub lashed out, raking him with needle-sharp claws. Then it fell off again.
    â€œYou stupid beast, I’m trying to
help
you!” Picking it up, he slung it around his shoulders and gripped its paws on his chest, as if he was carrying a goat. The cub struggled and scratched. He flung it from him.
    â€œWell it’s not my fault you fell in!” he shouted. “D’you think I
want
to be down this stinking hole?”
    The cub cowered under the sapling. It was snarling and lashing its tail, but its flanks were heaving and it was trembling.
    Hylas rubbed a hand over his face. “All right,” he said quietly. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I mean, it
was
your fault, but you were just hungry.”
    The cub stopped lashing its tail and swiveled its ears to listen.
    It was about knee height, maybe three or four moons old. Like all lion cubs, its paws were too big for the rest of it, and the fur on its belly, legs, and haunches was paler, with fuzzy dark spots. Its pads weren’t black, like a full-grown lion’s, but a tender light brown. The tip of its nose wasn’t black either, it was a freckly pink, and just above was a long, bloody scratch. And lion cubs should be plump. This one was so thin Hylas could see its ribs.
    â€œAll right,” he said again. Squatting on his haunches, he started talking in a low, soothing voice: Speaking nonsense, but letting the cub hear from his tone that he meant no harm.
    After a long wait, the cub edged closer and sniffed his toes. He kept talking.
    It tried to take his heel in its jaws. He flinched. It drew back. He kept talking.
    The Sun rose and the song of the crickets changed. Hylas kept talking.
    A little later, the cub approached and sniffed his knee. When he didn’t move, it rubbed its cheek against his shin. It licked his hand. Its tongue was surprisingly rough, but he stayed still, letting it become comfortable with his taste and smell.
    At last, the cub rested its head on his knee. Gently, he stroked behind its furry ear. It slitted its eyes and began to purr. Slowly, he gathered it up in his arms. It squirmed and scratched his