wanting to eat!—it actually smelled familiar—like the baskets of the blackberries sold in the City markets. But instead of reminding him of home and all that he'd lost, the scent of wild blackberries made the forest seem like home—or like a place that could come to be home, anyway.
He set down the large shallow gathering basket and unslung the berrying bucket from over his shoulder, advancing warily toward the berry bush.
'Bears and birds have gotten most of what's on the outside,' Shalkan said helpfully, 'but there are still plenty of berries inside the thicket.'
Resigning himself to a few scratches, Kellen got down on his knees and began pushing his way inside. He quickly realized that this wasn't just one bush, but a cluster of bushes grown together—and Shalkan was right; though the outsides were picked almost clean, here inside the bushes were still heavy with fruit. It wasn't as difficult to get inside as he'd feared, either; the way the bushes grew together made a sort of tunnel for him to push his way into.
He quickly stripped a handful of berries from their twigs and popped them into his mouth. They were warm with the sun, and the flavor was intense, piercingly sweet. Greedily, he wolfed down another handful, before reluctantly realizing he ought to share his bounty.
The next several minutes were occupied with Kellen feeding himself and Shalkan, as he stripped the fruit from all the bushes within reach. The unicorn took the fruit directly from his hands, and Shalkan's lips were soft against his palm. Soon berry juice had stained Shalkan's muzzle a startling red-purple, and Kellen's fingers—and probably his mouth, he imagined—were much the same color.
'I suppose I ought to pick some to bring back, too,' Kellen said when both of them had eaten their fill.
'I suppose you ought,' Shalkan said with mock sternness, swishing his tufted tail back and forth. 'I don't think you're really the container Idalia meant those berries to come home in. It shouldn't take you more than an hour or so—that's half a bell to you, though you're really going to have to stop thinking in City measures. I'll be back before then, and we'll still have plenty of light to get back to the cabin by. You'd better tuck that gathering basket in with you, though—you wouldn't want squirrels to get those apples.'
From the look on Shalkan's face, Kellen doubted that squirrels were what the unicorn was thinking of, but Kellen was in no mood to ignore good advice, no matter how cryptic. He crawled out from under the brambles and dragged the heavy gathering basket back in with him deep under the bush—it would have to be a very determined squirrel who went after its contents now—and concentrated on filling his leather bucket.
He heard the unicorn trot off, but intent on his task, Kellen didn't pay much attention. Shalkan wouldn't leave him here alone if this was a particularly dangerous place, and so far nothing he'd met in the Wildwood had seemed likely to offer him harm. He'd seen deer and rabbits, and supposed that where there were deer and rabbits there must be things that ate them—foxes and wolves and bears and even mountain tigers—but so far he hadn't seen so much as a paw-track, and he knew from things Idalia had said that the great predators tended to be shy and unwilling to exert themselves, not attacking unless they were wounded and starving, or the odds ran very much in their favor.
The bucket filled slowly, even though Kellen now conscientiously tried to keep from eating the berries instead of collecting them, and he slowly worked his way toward the center of the patch, lying almost full-length in order to reach the lowest twigs, where the unharvested berries were thickest.
He was totally engrossed in his task, focused entirely on the world a few inches from the end of his nose, when suddenly several terrifying things happened at once.
Kellen felt something seize him by the back of his pants and drag him out of the thicket—straight through the brambles. He dropped the bucket, flailing for purchase as he was swung through the air and dropped rudely to the ground beside the thicket.
A voice—a booming, baritone voice—rang out above his head. 'Oh, ho, you grubby little thief! What do you mean by sneaking in here to steal Cormo's berries?'
Kellen stared up at his attacker, and for one blurred befuddled moment he thought he was seeing a man on horseback. Then he realized what he was really seeing.
A Centaur.
The Centaur towered over Kellen. Though from his hooves to the crown of his head he was not very much taller than Kellen, his horse limbs were stocky and heavily boned, and his human torso was muscled like a blacksmith's. Like the apple-dryads, once you took a good look, he didn't look quite human—the proportions were a little off, somehow, though Kellen didn't think this was quite the time for a detailed inspection—and his face was flat and wide with a heavy brow ridge and flat cheekbones. His eyes were black, narrowed now with anger and suspicion.
He wore a sleeveless tunic of goatskin, with the hair left on so that the brown goat hide blended with his chestnut flanks, wild hair, and heavy beard. He stamped one massive hoof menacingly, and Kellen scrambled backward, out of reach of immediate peril.
'I'm very sorry,' Kellen gasped. 'I didn't realize—' He stopped himself just in time. Cormo had said these berry bushes belonged to him, but Shalkan would never have brought Kellen here to pick berries if these bushes belonged to anyone. After all, he'd been careful to warn Kellen about the apple-dryads. Was this a bluff? He got to his feet, watching Cormo warily. 'Perhaps we can work something out? I'd be happy to—'
