“Onward, then,” he said, and turned away.
He searched the ground for signs of the hunters’ passing. Nothing showed itself, not even to him. Then he remembered the one in white that he tracked to Dunfield. Or at least partway. That one’s tracks had disappeared with the rising of the sun, so it was reasonable to assume that the same thing happened here.
Luckily, Solomon remembered where the Mar-trollid camp was. He half hoped they were still there, and half didn’t. If they were, finding them would be easier. But that meant the hunters would find them there, too. And if the one in white really was a scout…
He began to run again, eating the miles with an easy loping run. He made good time, but as night began to fall he was still some distance away. Remembering Greta’s words, he slowed down and looked for a place to hide.
There wasn’t much. The land he ran through was short scrub brush and dry grass. There were no large trees or big rocks to get behind. It was flat, so ducking behind a hill wasn’t an option either. In fact, there was really nowhere for him to take cover. If the hunters came back this way now, he was going to be caught in the open.
“It will be what it will be,” he decided, and started running again.
Dusk passed without incident. Soon, the sun was down behind the horizon and shortly after the light faded completely. Now he did stop. Flat semi barren land or not, it wouldn’t do him any good at all to trip over an unseen bush and break his leg. And given his adventures in this land so far, he didn’t have a single doubt that it would happen.
He found a place relatively free of thorns or rocks and lay down, his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the stars. They were totally different from those in the Greenweald. The gloom that was always over Dunfield didn’t exist out here, so he could see them sparkling in the black velvet of the night sky.
He wished Celia could see them as well.
The night passed slowly. He slept now and then, for only a few minutes at a time, but used the opportunity to rest anyway. It wasn’t his first time spending the night uncomfortable and awake, and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last.
Finally, he was able to start seeing vague shapes. Dawn had come, and with it, the whistles of the hunters.
Solomon rolled to his feet, staying low and peering into the dim light. Wherever they were it wasn’t in his direct line of sight. He crouched down, and slowly moved behind a scraggly bush, staying as still as he could.
It only took a couple of minutes until they were past. As the day grew brighter, they became more visible. They ran in a loose pack, no apparent order, sprinting and jostling each other. They were tall, short, thin, hefty and there was one, blond hair screwed into the appearance of crazy horns, that was obviously a child.
“Lyssa,” he breathed, and although he really wanted to jump out and grab her, bring her home to Greta and Friedrich, he stayed still. He was no match for all of them at once, and from what Celia had said, grabbing her wouldn’t have helped anyway.
The Mar-trollid first, then other plans could be made.
After they passed, he stood and started in the direction that the hunters came from, then stopped.
The hunters were headed back to Dunfield. They hadn’t talked about that and would be caught unawares. For a moment, he was torn. Go on to the Mar-trollid camp and see what he was afraid, yet certain, he would see; or return, and try to beat the hunters back to Dunfield to warn Celia and the others.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said, and began to run in the direction of the Mar-trollid camp.
The ones he left behind wouldn’t be surprised. They knew very well that the likelihood of the hunters being gone for good was slim. Besides, at the rate they were moving, there was no way Solomon would get back before them.
Stick to the plan, he told himself.
The sun came up fully and in the distance he could see smoke. He put on as much speed as he could and arrived an hour later.
As he approached, he could see the overturned wagons and the dead cows. Several of the wagons were burning, and it was that smoke that he had followed there.
He stopped short, sickened by the sight.
Then, there was movement. Solomon saw large, shaggy shapes moving.
They weren’t dead! Or at least not all of them.
But the hunters had taken their toll. Dead Mar-trollid were everywhere. The camp was bigger than Solomon remembered. Either he hadn’t realized its size at the time or more had come and joined the ones here.
Curious eyes watched him walk among them, but no one challenged him. The stares were different than those of the people in Dunfield. There was no hostility or aggression in them. But there was more than enough sadness.
“Gan-Rowe?” Solomon stopped and asked a female. She only shook her head and moved on.
“Yag-Morah. Is she alive?”
He kept asking and getting no answers, so he kept moving through the camp.
Finally, he found her. She was sitting on the ground near their wagon. It was still upright, but the door was in ruins and the cows near the front lay dead.
Solomon walked slowly toward her, not wishing to intrude, but needing to be there.
Gan-Rowe lay with his head in her lap, dried blood covering his torso.
