most of the night, and if he is asleep, one footstep out of place will wake him up. The first shot will probably be to wound, but you never know his mood.”
Gerta stared at her back, wide-eyed.
“Sleep well,” said Janna, turning down the lamp. “I’ll be interested to hear about your dreams.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gerta dreamed that night of rowan trees, of long roots that twined around her. The rowans, too, were dreaming under the blanket of snow. Squirrels scratched around the base of the trees and woodpeckers were tucked into holes drilled into the heartwood. The trees dreamed of these things, of the movement of carpenter worms in wood and the caterpillars sleeping in hollowed out twigs.
She felt very large, immense, stretching out in all directions. Large and cold, alive but dormant.
Nothing happened in the great forest except the fall of snow. Gerta stood in the heart of the rowan and watched the snow pile up and waited for the sap to rise.
Then a disturbance—a chiming sound and a howl of wind—and the trees shuddered. In their hollow nests, the woodpeckers huddled together. The squirrels chattered worriedly in their drays. Only the caterpillars seemed unbothered. Very few things bother a caterpillar.
The wind passed. The trees slipped into a deeper sleep and the small animals settled. The Snow Queen’s sled had passed, and was gone into the distance.
She woke very late. Janna prodded her shoulder and said “I’ve got to go check on the wood-pigeons. Do you want to come with me, or sleep some more?”
Gerta blinked muzzily up at her. For a moment all that she could think was that she was in the room with this strange, familiar girl and they clearly knew each other, and perhaps they were friends.
Janna handed her a cup of tea.
Gerta’s head cleared. She looked toward the doorway and the hide drape, and remembered Nan and Aaron with the crossbow. She was a prisoner. She took a drink, hoping that hot tea would fill up the spaces in her that would otherwise be filling with despair.
“I’ll come with you,” she said. Part of her wanted to go back to the peacefulness of the rowan dream, to sleep away as much of her captivity as possible, but the wood-pigeons would be outside. Outside was closer to freedom than inside.
And I might see Mousebones again.
She pulled on her clothes under the nightgown. Janna watched, looking faintly amused, and Gerta flushed for no particular reason. I know I’m plump and pasty and I look weak. She doesn’t need to look at me like that.
When she was dressed, Janna went up the ladder again. She flipped the hatch back—more snow fell inside—and climbed the rest of the way out. “Come on,” she called down. “It’s not warm, but the snow’s let up.”
Gerta went up the ladder slowly and poked her head out at the top. Janna put down a hand and pulled her out onto the roof of the earthlodge.
The world was blinding, dazzling white. The sun blazed off the snow crystals. Gerta shaded her eyes and blinked away red spots.
Mousebones landed on the snow next to her, looking like a black paper cut-out against the snow.
“Aurk! Are you hurt? Did the humans pick at you?”
“Only a little,” said Gerta. “At least, for now.”
“Arrk!”
Janna shook her head. “I admit, I’m starting to believe that you do talk to him.”
“It’s easy to prove,” said Gerta, a bit nettled. “Hold up your fingers behind your back.”
Janna raised her eyebrow, but put her hands behind her back. “And now…?”
“Mousebones, can you tell me how many she’s holding up?”
The raven made a grumpy noise. “I’m not a circus animal, you know.”
“Please? It’ll make my life easier.”
“Arrrkk…” The raven hopped around behind Janna. “Two.”
“Two,” said Gerta.
Janna’s eyebrows went up. Her hands moved a bit. “How many now?”
“Four,” reported Mousebones. Gerta passed this on.
“How many now?”
The raven took off,
Gerta stared at her back, wide-eyed.
“Sleep well,” said Janna, turning down the lamp. “I’ll be interested to hear about your dreams.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Gerta dreamed that night of rowan trees, of long roots that twined around her. The rowans, too, were dreaming under the blanket of snow. Squirrels scratched around the base of the trees and woodpeckers were tucked into holes drilled into the heartwood. The trees dreamed of these things, of the movement of carpenter worms in wood and the caterpillars sleeping in hollowed out twigs.
She felt very large, immense, stretching out in all directions. Large and cold, alive but dormant.
Nothing happened in the great forest except the fall of snow. Gerta stood in the heart of the rowan and watched the snow pile up and waited for the sap to rise.
Then a disturbance—a chiming sound and a howl of wind—and the trees shuddered. In their hollow nests, the woodpeckers huddled together. The squirrels chattered worriedly in their drays. Only the caterpillars seemed unbothered. Very few things bother a caterpillar.
The wind passed. The trees slipped into a deeper sleep and the small animals settled. The Snow Queen’s sled had passed, and was gone into the distance.
She woke very late. Janna prodded her shoulder and said “I’ve got to go check on the wood-pigeons. Do you want to come with me, or sleep some more?”
Gerta blinked muzzily up at her. For a moment all that she could think was that she was in the room with this strange, familiar girl and they clearly knew each other, and perhaps they were friends.
Janna handed her a cup of tea.
Gerta’s head cleared. She looked toward the doorway and the hide drape, and remembered Nan and Aaron with the crossbow. She was a prisoner. She took a drink, hoping that hot tea would fill up the spaces in her that would otherwise be filling with despair.
“I’ll come with you,” she said. Part of her wanted to go back to the peacefulness of the rowan dream, to sleep away as much of her captivity as possible, but the wood-pigeons would be outside. Outside was closer to freedom than inside.
And I might see Mousebones again.
She pulled on her clothes under the nightgown. Janna watched, looking faintly amused, and Gerta flushed for no particular reason. I know I’m plump and pasty and I look weak. She doesn’t need to look at me like that.
When she was dressed, Janna went up the ladder again. She flipped the hatch back—more snow fell inside—and climbed the rest of the way out. “Come on,” she called down. “It’s not warm, but the snow’s let up.”
Gerta went up the ladder slowly and poked her head out at the top. Janna put down a hand and pulled her out onto the roof of the earthlodge.
The world was blinding, dazzling white. The sun blazed off the snow crystals. Gerta shaded her eyes and blinked away red spots.
Mousebones landed on the snow next to her, looking like a black paper cut-out against the snow.
“Aurk! Are you hurt? Did the humans pick at you?”
“Only a little,” said Gerta. “At least, for now.”
“Arrk!”
Janna shook her head. “I admit, I’m starting to believe that you do talk to him.”
“It’s easy to prove,” said Gerta, a bit nettled. “Hold up your fingers behind your back.”
Janna raised her eyebrow, but put her hands behind her back. “And now…?”
“Mousebones, can you tell me how many she’s holding up?”
The raven made a grumpy noise. “I’m not a circus animal, you know.”
“Please? It’ll make my life easier.”
“Arrrkk…” The raven hopped around behind Janna. “Two.”
“Two,” said Gerta.
Janna’s eyebrows went up. Her hands moved a bit. “How many now?”
“Four,” reported Mousebones. Gerta passed this on.
“How many now?”
The raven took off,
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