The Song of Loss

Chapter Eight - The Hunter and The Sheep

There was no sign of Pirio the next morning. The others looked just as confused and they all spent close to an hour looking for him. Katta even tried to sniff him out after some urging from Kasi. The longer they searched, the tighter Darcy's stomach knotted together. He'd said it himself he wouldn't be able to help her any further, but she hadn't imagined he would just vanish.

Darcy spent most of the day lost in her own thoughts, barely noticing when Kasi pushed food into her hands at meal times. They were still a day away from Xather where they would be able to board a boat to cross the Sleeping River. The others spoke about it as if it were full of cutthroats and villains but given that they were traveling with two sticky-fingered boys, Darcy wasn't too worried.

The younger of her thievery inclined companions had taken off on Katta after lunch. He said she had been restless since their search for Pirio came up empty. The nouyip had looked disheartened, tail twitching side to side. Her eyes tracked Cedric at every turn.

One of the wagon wheels jolted over a rock, jarring Darcy and pulling her out of her thoughts. The sun was halfway nearly to the western horizon now. One more night camping in the open and then she'd be squashed into a tiny city again.

Pirio's words flowed through her head as they set up camp. She'd volunteered to find them food while they searched out firewood. The space between Windwich and Xather was strangely lacking in trees. Darcy imagined that was a large part of her discomfort. She wasn't confident she'd be able to hunt properly either, not with the wide open space giving her nowhere to hide. It didn't matter as much, they had enough dried rations to fall back on for one night.

An arrow hung limply from her hand, the point dragging along the dirt behind her and leaving a trail. Famris in Xather. The idea wasn't the most outlandish, plenty of others left the Verosen Woods. That was how Azariah had found her mother begging for scraps in Granatal. But Pirio had mentioned false doctrine being spread. People feared them enough without zealots adding to the rumors.

If she could find them, Darcy thought she might be able to talk sense into them. Surely they just hadn't heard the word of peace Nialdir had bestowed on them. In their founding days they'd been desperate to survive, sacrificing anything just to get to the next day. It wasn't until Saint Jeremy sacrificed himself that Nialdir took pity on them and gave them what they needed to get through one more winter.

Every year they celebrated the Feast of Jeremy, but that was symbolic more than anything now. The human sacrifices had stopped near the time she'd been born. Those that had left before that just hadn't heard the news and they'd change their ways as soon as they knew.

Ahead of her, a small group of sheep grazed on the bitter grass that fought for life. Darcy dropped to one knee, steadying herself and nocking her arrow. She was already pulling back as she aimed for one of the smaller sheep on the fringes. That would be enough for all of them for the night.

It dropped with her arrow lodged in its neck and the others bolted. Slow claps sounded behind her and Darcy spun with a fresh arrow in hand. She found Percy walking towards her and dropped her bow. "Am I entertaining you?"

"I had no idea your skills ranged so far, dear bard," he said. Their footsteps synced together on their way to the sheep and he insisted on carrying it back. He'd hardly spoken to her all day, choosing to ride with Krea or sit at the front of the wagon with Reyner and Peyton. "Did Pirio say something to you last night?"

Darcy nearly stumbled over her own feet but covered it up by grabbing a pebble off the ground. "When would we have had time to speak? Anything he'd have said to me would have been heard by the rest of you." They couldn't know about their conversation. Mind magic was normally hidden to all but the caster and recipient. The only exceptions were when a larger group was involved.