way around his and Ree’s ankles. Jem wasn’t coughing as much, and his bones weren’t so obvious beneath the skin. He’d picked up on feeding the chickens and making bread every morning, too.
When Garrad tried to scold him for this, it set off a staring match between two identical sets of blue eyes, and Jem had won.
Jem and the horse were the only things the old man seemed to care for. He had not a good word for the people of the nearby town, and when Jem had said—after Garrad had spent half an hour telling Ree exactly what he’d done wrong when repairing the roof—that they could leave and he’d call the people of the town to look after Garrad, he’d started off a tirade. “Them? They never bothered even when I buried my wife. They let my son be taken off without trying to stop the Imperials. I’d rot in all the hells before asking
Sometimes, amid the orders and complaints, Garrad talked of how his farm had been much more prosperous, how the forest had once been a hunting reserve for the Emperor himself, but no one took care of it or even tried to keep it safe any more. There’d been talk in Three Rivers that bandits claimed whole duchies for themselves and the Empire did nothing to stop them. Hobgoblins came out of the woods and killed people and livestock until they were killed, Garrad told him. He’d lost half his cattle to hobgoblins before he got a pitchfork in one’s guts and sent its companions running for safer prey. When Ree shivered at that story, the old man gave his rusty laugh. “You got lucky, boy. Really lucky.”
Ree couldn’t disagree, when he was warm and fed and had a safe bed for the first time in years, perhaps ever. His mother hadn’t lived so well, and the work was better than many of the things he’d done to survive. If the best he could hope for from Garrad was tolerance because of Jem, well, he could live with that. And he would, as long as he had it. Even though it made Ree sick to think about killing humans, he didn’t regret killing that one, no matter that he’d been too terrified to know what he was doing. The big bastard would have killed Jem, and Jem had brought back the little bit of human Ree still had.
During a break between snowstorms, two weeks later, Ree was using a pitchfork to shove hay down from the loft to where it could be spread in the animal stalls when he heard the horse scream. He raced out of the barn, fork in hand. A creature that might once have been a bear stood over Garrad, and the horse reared and danced back from it. The thing’s white fur made it almost invisible against the snow.
Before he could think, Ree found himself sprinting toward the thing. The fork left his hand, flew through the air.
He heard Garrad scream, “No, Ree, no.”
The three tines made a solid sound when they hit the creature and buried themselves deep in its chest. The horse fled, leaping the fence without slowing.
Ree caught the handle of the pitchfork and shoved with all his strength. Scarlet blood sprayed the white fur, and the beast swung paws as big as Ree’s head. Step by step, Ree forced it back, away from Garrad, until it shuddered and collapsed.
“Garrad?” Ree kept half an eye on the creature as he edged towards where the old farmer lay.
“Brownie.” Garrad sounded tired, not his normal half-growl. “I raised that horse from a foal.” He spoke between gasps, and his face had an unhealthy gray look. “Her dam was my boy’s horse. She’s all I’ve got left of him.”
“Get inside and rest.” Ree didn’t have to think about that. “I’ll go after the horse.”
“Not on your own.” Jem must have come from the house. “Not with things like that out there.”
Ree shook his head as they helped Garrad regain his footing. “Someone needs to look after Garrad, and you’re better at that than I am.”
Jem’s mouth tightened, and his eyes got that hard, determined look Ree hardly ever saw. He said nothing.
Rather than waste time, Ree slipped away while the younger boy was getting Garrad into his chair in the main room. If it started to snow again, he might never be able to follow the horse’s tracks.
He found the horse easily enough—the mare hadn’t run far. She stood by a stand of half-frozen grass, nipping the few green blades free. Ree smelled nothing worse than horse. The animal let him get close before she lifted her head and snorted into his chest. Ree sighed and caught a handful of mane. He should have brought rope for a halter. “Come on, girl.”
Ree kept talking softly as he walked her back through the dim, snow-covered forest.
The snow in front of him erupted. The horse shrieked and tried to rear, almost wrenching Ree’s arm out of its socket. He struggled to free his fingers while the mound of shaggy white fur unfolded arms and claws that could gut him without effort.
The creature howled. It lurched a step toward Ree and the horse, spun away. A sharp crack made it howl and lurch again. Ree pushed himself and the horse to the side as the creature lost its balance and fell toward them. He heard his shirt tear, smelled blood.
By the time he’d got the horse standing still, his arm ached and he was shivering, but the creature lay on the snow with a pitchfork buried in its back. The handle quivered, but Jem stood steadily, reproach in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have left without me.”
Ree swallowed. He couldn’t talk.
“Oh, never mind.” Jem shook his head. “Let’s get back. I’ll bring ugly here—” He indicated the dead creature. “Fur like that should be worth something.”
Ree wrinkled his nose as he stirred the furs in the barrel. The ammonia reek of the tanning mix made his eyes water and burned his nose. His shoulder still ached, a dull pain that flared every time he shoved the wooden paddle against bulky fur.
He blamed Garrad’s sense of humor. “You killed ’em, boys, you can fix ’em.”
The sound of arguing echoed from the nearest road. Ree looked up. It looked like a group of men approaching. He stepped away from the barrel to where he could breathe cleanly.
Humans, none too clean. “Garrad, Jem! Company!” Ree returned to the tanning as soon as he’d called. He’d best not be too obvious.
Jem supported the old man—whom he’d taken to calling Granddad—as he hobbled out into the field, his other hand clutching the walking stick Ree had carved him.
The visitors reached the far fence at about the same time as Jem and Garrad did. Ree’s stomach tightened, but Garrad seemed unconcerned by the pitchforks and hoes his visitors brandished. “So what brings you folks up from the Rivers?”
“Monsters came out the forest and killed two of Kederic’s best pigs.” The speaker was younger than Garrad, with dark hair graying at the temples. “We chased ’em off, but they came up this way.”
Garrad snorted. “It took you all of a week to follow ’em? You’re a bigger coward than your da was, Meren Anders son, and that’s saying something.”
The leader paled, and then flushed, then cast about, clearly wanting to say something. “So where did these strangers you’ve got come from?” He looked straight at Ree.
Ree let the paddle fall and stalked over to where Garrad and Jem stood. “I’m not human enough for you?” His voice shook with a fury that surprised him. “You can see clear up this valley from town, I’m told. Three cold days without smoke and not one of you
The white fur glittered in the cold light, sun catching on every drop of water. Ree let it drop back in with a splash.
Garrad spoke before anyone else could. “They’re not strangers. They’re my grandsons,” he growled. “My boy sent ’em to me. Being with the army, he couldn’t come himself, but he made sure I’d have someone who didn’t need to be nagged into seeing I was well. Who wouldn’t ignore others as needed help.”
The lead townsman gaped. “You ... They never came through town.”