Witch Crag by Kate Cann Page A

as they could hold and they’d staved off hunger with a piece of grain cake each. The dull food had tasted better with the smell of roasting rabbit in the air – with the promise of that to come. Quainy had collected two large handfuls of watercress from further down the stream; its fresh peppery taste would be perfect with the meat. It was going to be a proper meal, and then a proper long sleep, and then tomorrow, recharged, they’d forge on.
    Kita rolled on to her side, and sighed contentedly, full of affection for her two friends. Pride and pleasure were filling her once more. “I need to pee again,” she said. “It feels wonderful. A few hours ago I seriously thought I’d never pee again.”
    *
    The roast rabbit was tender and delicious. They sat round the fire cloaked in their sheepskins and ate as slowly as they could, savouring it, interspersing meat with watercress. Then they gnawed at the bones. Raff was letting the fire die down – they’d be asleep soon.
    â€œWonder if you’ll dream again tonight, Kita,” he murmured. “That was such a useful dream.”
    Kita shifted uncomfortably. She hadn’t thought about her dream since they’d drunk from the dew lilies – about the weirdness of it spilling into her waking world.
    â€œDo you think . . . do you think Nada contacted you?” whispered Quainy. “From the dead?”
    â€œI don’t know,” muttered Kita. “I just know, when I saw that log, the ivy-covered one – I knew it was the one in my dream. I can’t explain it.”
    â€œMaybe it wasn’t a dream,” said Raff, and he opened his hand. Lying on his palm, gleaming palely in the firelight, was a tuft of sheep’s wool. “I found this caught on a thorn,” he said. “By the dew lilies.”
    â€œSo?” said Kita. “We were all wearing our sheepskins, remember?”
    â€œYes, but I found this when we first arrived. On a thorn none of us had been near.” He paused, then went on. “By four or five lilies crushed on the ground – already drunk from.”
    There was a silence. “You’re scaring me,” mumbled Quainy. “Why didn’t you say anything at the time?”
    â€œI don’t know. All that mattered was to drink. And it . . . it disturbed me. It was too much like—”
    â€œWitchcraft,” croaked Quainy.
    â€œMaybe I sleepwalked,” said Kita, indignantly. She felt suddenly, weirdly, as though her friends were ganging up on her. “I dreamed about meeting Nada, and I sleepwalked, and just happened to find the lilies . . . reality and my dream were all mixed up.”
    â€œOr Nada came to you,” said Quainy. “From the dead.”
    â€œIs there more you can tell us, Kita?” Raff asked, quietly. “About what happened?”
    â€œNo!” cried Kita. “Nothing! Why are you asking? Stop looking at me like that! Like you doubt me, like you’re . . . like you’re afraid of me. . .” She broke off. Quainy was no longer looking at her but beyond her, and her face showed absolute terror.
    Kita spun round.
    From the dark shadows of the forest, five pairs of eyes glinted.

The largest pair of eyes shuttered for an instant – then floated forward. Slowly, dreadfully, a great black hound came into view in the light from their dying fire.
    Then four more wild dogs materialized behind it. Crouched, menacing, they grouped behind the huge hound.
    And everything waited. Held its breath.
    Kita, frozen, suddenly understood that her mind was her only weapon. It had saved Quainy on the rock face; it would save them now.
    She stared unblinking at the hound, mastering it, silently telling it how powerful she was. The hound stared back. She knew that if she let her mind wander, even for an instant, if she let doubt in – the dog would be on her. She gazed at it, holding its stare. Then slowly, she got to her