Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER XXXVIII: The Runaway's Of Graywood

Jack crept through the most remote of Burlington Manor's fields, dew dampening his boots and breeches. He kept low and stepped carefully, creeping forward as silently as a fox, his bow held ready, an arrow already nocked. Perhaps twenty paces ahead of him, two pheasants—a brilliantly coloured cock and a plump hen—foraged in the grass. Jack watched the birds for any sign that they were aware of his approach. Whenever the male stopped eating to look around, he froze.

When he was close enough, he straightened slowly, drew back his bow and loosed the arrow. Without waiting to see if the first dart struck true, he grabbed a second arrow, drew it back and fired all in one smooth, blurringly fast motion. His first arrow struck the male in the neck; the second hit the hen's breast as she took off, knocking her back to the ground.

Jack strode to where they lay, fresh blood staining their feathers, as red as the Plantagenet crest and steaming in the cool morning air. He tied them together with a thin strand of leather and hung them on his shoulder. Elsa and he would eat well this evening.

He started back toward the house, taking the long way around the fields so that he could check on those he and his friends had sown the past two nights. They hadn't sprouted yet, of course, but still, Jack took great pride in seeing the grain in its furrows. As he walked up and down the rows, he spotted a few stray seeds, and he nudged these back into the earth.

Jack had never thought of himself as anything more or less than a soldier, a man whose bow was for hire. He had surely never entertained the idea that he might tie himself to the land as a farmer. But planting this grain had changed something inside him. He hadn't given much thought to remaining in Burlington Manor for long, but a part of him wouldn't feel satisfied until he saw green shoots emerging from this rich brown soil. And another part of him wouldn't be happy until he saw this crop of grain harvested. It was an odd feeling for him.

Looking up from the grain, Jack spotted Elsa in the distance. She wore a simple brown dress, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was unbound and she carried a broad basket as if prepared for a picnic. Jack started to raise a hand in greeting but realised that she wasn't walking toward him or the fields. She was headed into Graywood Forest.

Pausing near the edge of the wood, she looked about, seeming to make certain that no one watched her. A moment later, she stepped into the shadows of the trees and disappeared from view.

This was her home and had been for more than ten years. She was entitled to come and go as she pleased. Jack knew this. But he couldn't help being puzzled by her behaviour, nor could he resist the pull of his own curiosity. He hurried across the fields, and upon reaching Greywood's fringe, hesitated but a moment before plunging into the forest.

He had tracked more wary game in his time, and so found Elsa's trail with ease. He followed, quickly at first, more carefully as her path took him deeper and deeper into the wood. When at last he spotted her, he slowed to match her pace, taking great care to keep out of sight, his puzzlement growing with every step. This was no idle walk she was on. Elsa made her way through the wood with purpose, following what looked to be a path she had taken before. Through a shallow hollow over a series of low hills, briefly along the banks of a stream and then into a second hollow—it would have been easy for someone less experienced with woodland travel to lose his way. But Elsa never hesitated.

At one point Jack lost sight of her and paused, peering through the trees, trying to spot her again. As he searched, he heard a strange high-pitched whistling sound. It was coming at him fast and he looked up expecting to see some kind of bird.

Crack!

A throwing stick struck him hard on the side of the head, staggering him for just a moment. Before he could recover, something crashed into his side. He staggered again but managed to stay upright. A creature—a badger at first glance. At least it had a badger head and fur on its back. But it was a boy. He had no time to see more than that. A second creature smashed into him from behind. He turned, managed to see a wolf's head and fur.