Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

the wooden bars of their pen. The pigs backed away and huddled against one another, but they no longer cried out. They gradually spread apart to move freely about the pen once more, though they kept an eye on me, snorting little warnings as they passed by.

I crouched in the filthy mud and slop and waited, forcing my senses to adapt to the intolerable smell. At least the rain would wash away some of the manure from my clothes, once I left the pen. But that would be a long time in coming. I would keep vigil until the wolf arrived.

I felt the crossbow at my hip. Not my father’s, but Pierre’s Chinese repeating crossbow.

As brave as I made myself appear to everyone else, I couldn’t afford to miss or waste time reloading.

I sat for over twenty minutes. By then, the pigs seemed to regard me as part of their pen – a piece of scenery to walk around as they continued their nervous pacing. Nearly half of them had fallen asleep. The others seemed as tense as I was.

I finally sat in the slop. My knees and thighs were tired, and I no longer cared how I looked or smelled, or what I had to scrub off the 193

cloak later. In any case, this almost guaranteed that the Leóne family would not ask for it back. I leaned against the gate post, turning my head now and then to check for anything approaching from behind the farmhouse.

It felt good to finally rest. Nervous as I was, my shoulders and head felt heavy. I closed my eyes and thought of Suzette. Sweet, pure Suzette. Playing among the white daffodils in our meadow, running from me and laughing, her golden hair streaming in the biting wind.

I saw her run toward the dark forest.

Beyond the first line of trees, the woods were black as coal.

Except for the eyes. More than a dozen pairs of eyes, shining from the darkness.

“Suzette, stop!” Papa called from behind me. “Come back!”

“Suzette, no! Suzette!” Mama screamed.

Suzette continued to laugh and run in an irregular pattern, playing a game of escaping me, escaping us all, while the eyes watched from the forest.

“Suzette, turn around!” It was Francois Revelier shouting, beckoning her back.

Suzette wouldn’t listen.

“Helena, go after her!” Papa told me.

“Bring her back!”

I stood where I was. I watched Suzette, laughing and playing as she drew closer to the forest.

“Go, Helena!” Mama urged. “You can get her! Bring her back!”

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“But the wolves …” I muttered. I felt a tremor through my skin, like a spider crawling up my spine.

“You can bring her back, Helena,” Francois said. “You’re the only one who can do it.”

Suzette giggled and dodged back and forth, closer and closer to the forest. To the waiting eyes that had grown in number, nearly twenty of them now.

“But they’ll kill me, too …”

“Helena,” Mama said in a quiet voice.

“Helena, please …”

“You can do it, Helena,” Papa said. “Bring her back. Bring her back.”

A tear flowed down my cheek. “I can’t …”

Suzette’s laughter echoed from the forest’s edge. “Can’t catch me!”

Then she turned and ran straight into the dark abyss, where teeth flashed open beneath each pair of eyes.

“Papa?”

I started suddenly. Soft rain fell on my cheeks and I rankled at the damp odor of pig manure. The tiny voice came from the front porch.

A little freckled girl stood there in her nightgown, staring out into the dark clearing. I looked and saw a heavyset man standing between puddles, holding a musket. Farmer Favreau, no doubt, watching for the wolves.

I had dozed off. Never even noticed him leaving the house. As he surveyed the outer perimeter of trees, I craned my neck, letting the rain needle down on me. Moonlight shone between 195

rolling clouds, directly overhead. I had slept nearly an hour.

I looked back at