Witch Crag by Kate Cann Page B

feet and, half crouching, took a single step towards it.
    â€œ Kita! ” breathed Raff, horrified.
    â€œ Shhh ,” she hissed. “Trust me.”
    The great dog didn’t move. Its eyes were locked into Kita’s, unwavering, a battle of wills. Kita filled her mind with a sense of herself – with who she was and how much they’d all been through to get this far, and she sent this thought streaming out towards the dog. You’re not going to hurt me , she told it, silently. I’m too strong for you. I’m not going back – you are. You’re going to turn around and go back into the trees .
    Slowly she raised both hands, palms out, and held them towards the hound as she took another step towards it. Then, in a calm, almost sing-song voice, she said, “It smells good, doesn’t it? The roast rabbit. Well – you can have the bones. Raff is going to pick up the bones and give me the biggest one. Then he’s going to throw the rest to your pack.”
    There was a tense pause; she and the dog continued to stare each other down, unmoving. Behind her she heard Raff gathering up the bones from around the fire; the pack shifted as the smell of meat strengthened in the air. Wordlessly, Raff put a small backbone and skull into her hand. “Throw the rest, Raff,” she chanted. “Behind the hound.”
    Raff’s aim was good. The lesser dogs leapt on the bones, snarling and fighting over them and, at the noise, the great hound dropped its gaze at last, and turned.
    But Kita summoned it back to her. “Take this!” she commanded, holding up the backbone and skull.
    The dog gazed at her. She threw the bone and it caught it deftly in its huge jaws. Then she took another step towards it, arms still raised, and said, firmly, “Now go. There’s nothing more for you here. Go! ”
    There was a terrible frozen moment, everything hanging in the balance. Then the dog turned and melted into the blackness of the forest, its pack obediently following.
    Kita stayed where she was, looking after it, looking at the black trees it had vanished into. She felt astounding. Free, full of power. Somehow, she’d known she’d subdue the dog, and that knowledge had given her power. She waited for her friends to speak, to express their wonder, to praise her – but all she heard was silence.
    â€œMaybe you’re right,” she said, loudly, angrily, still not turning round. “Maybe I am a witch. Now let’s get some sleep.”

    No one mentioned the dogs the next day, or what had happened. Kita waited for questions, acknowledgement – maybe even congratulations – but none were forthcoming. So she felt her friends had somehow joined forces against her, and now there was estrangement within the little group. But it was too risky to talk about it. They breakfasted on grain cake and honey, and drank deep and long from the bubbling spring. Raff tried to fashion a water carrier from a lump of wood, scraping out the centre with his knife, but the wood was crumbling and rotten and it didn’t work. They’d just have to trust to finding another water source before nightfall.
    Kita climbed a tall tree to see if she could get her bearings, but saw nothing but forest. As far as she could tell, though, from the position of the sun, they were on track for the ruined city. She couldn’t be sure exactly where it lay – she knew it was to the east of the wastelands around Witch Crag, that was all. If they walked steadily and didn’t meet any trouble, they might reach its outskirts by nightfall.
    They set off walking, Kita leading as usual. Except it wasn’t as usual. She knew that behind her Quainy and Raff were exchanging glances, whispered words – wondering about her and her strange powers. She wanted to tell them that the dream and the broken flowers and the way she’d mastered the hound baffled her just as much as it did them,