When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (books under 200 pages txt) 📗

critter's neck. Exactly the kinda thing he'd worried might find him and eat him if he spent too much time in one spot. The creature, not the woman.

All his thoughts about escapin' left him in a hurry. So far, it didn't hear him or catch his aroma; couldn't take a chance on it seein' him, neither. In spite o' the fear and worry about the ferocious beast, his mind wandered on back to the woman walkin' beside it.

How come it ain't eatin' her?

The first o' many questions what rattled their way into his noodle.

Who is she? How'd she get behind the green curtain? How'd she make a thing like that her pet?

They moved slow and with care, the woman and her beast, as though one or the other o' them experienced trouble with walkin'. Not unlike himself. Judgin' from how the animal looked to be leadin' her, he guessed it must be the lady havin' difficulty. He wondered if she were hurt and, if so, why the furry thing'd want to be helpin' her.

As he watched, bein' careful to control his breath and keep from shufflin' his feet and attractin' attention, another movement at the edge o' his vision caught his awareness. It flitted past like a bird on the wing, havin' disappeared by the time he got his head turned toward it. The ol' sailor frowned, concerned to find the forest suddenly so busy with people and creatures when he hadn't seen fowl nor beast since he lost track o' Ivy.

Another flash o' muted color. Gray? White? Somewhere in between? Horace squinted hard, searchin' for somethin' to tell him if this were the missin' Ivy. If so, he needed to warn her about the woman and her creature travelin' not so far ahead o' her.

A branch shook and quivered, then a second did the same, makin' him realize it weren't one thing movin' through the forest, but two or more. Another beast with a woman clingin' to it? Hard enough to believe he'd seen one such thing. All this activity gave him more reason to appreciate the ship-bound life he'd grown to hate—weren't nobody or nothin' on the damn boat you wasn't expectin'.

Never knew what lay beneath them waves, though.

He shivered and put the thought from his head, concentratin' instead on where he'd seen the flutter o' movement. Out the corner o' his eye, he still spied the lady and the beast; he understood what he were dealin' with there more'n he did whatever hid itself amongst the brush.

Subtle motion in three different places convinced him it weren't Ivy sneakin' up on the others, least not unless she'd got some o' her friends to join her. Unlikely, but it didn't mean weren't more o' them Small Gods he'd seen before. But why would creatures like them need to sneak up on anythin'?

Whatever were hidin' came to a break in their cover. A shape flashed across the space from one bush to the next—long ganglin' arms, scrawny body, pale skin.

And no eyes or mouth.

The sight of it turned Horace's knees watery and his insides to ice. Two more similar figures darted through, keepin' pace with the first, and then them faceless hid themselves again.

The ol' sailor's gaze flashed back to woman and beast. They continued movin', pickin' their way through the forest as if afraid o' steppin' in an unseen pile o' shit. Neither person nor animal possessed the slightest inklin' o' the horrible creatures creepin' up on them.

The sudden urge to cry out and warn them parted Horace's lips, but he stopped himself before doing so. Ivy'd given him a good sense o' what them faceless things was about, but he didn't have no idea what the furry, toothful beast'd do if it caught wind o' his presence. Killed by a beast with a ferocious mouth or beings with none whatsoever—not muchuva choice.

Instead o' shoutin', Horace closed his gob and waited. He realized what he should be doin' were findin' a way to get the fuck outta the area as quick as his feet'd take him. Couldn't, though, and he weren't sure why. His brain made the suggestions to his legs and feet to start themselves movin', but they wasn't payin' attention, and his gut knotted and twisted at the idea o' runnin' away.

A drop o' nervous sweat rolled along his temple and he swallowed a lumpy wad o' saliva. Bush leaves moved again, closer to the woman and her furry escort.

Why don't the beast know they're after them?

As the three o' them crossed the space in the brush, Horace noticed their pale skin streaked with a darker color and realized they'd smeared themselves with somethin' to hide their scent. Camouflaged themselves, he thought they called it.

No need for such nonsense aboard a ship.

But he weren't ship-bound, and neither was the faceless, the furry beast, nor the woman. The rules o' the forest differed from the ones he'd spent all them turns o' the seasons adherin' to. The ol' sailor'd never imagined he'd miss ridin' them waves.

His feet finally started movin' again. He picked one up and set it down again, takin' care not to put it on top o' a branch what'd crack or a pile o' crinkly dead leaves. Strange thing: the step his foot took after all that time weren't away from creature and woman, but toward them, and he didn't know why.

The brush a mere ten paces behind them shook and the furry animal stopped its measured pace, raised its head. The sound o' a deep growl rolled across the space separatin' them from him, and the lady rotated her head on her neck. For whatever reason, she didn't appear to have any clue what direction she should be lookin'. Her unsurety didn't stop the beast, though.

The great furry thing wheeled around, pullin' itself from its companion's grasp. Panic flashed