Nirrin (Forestfolk, Book 3)

Chapter 8a

Birds chirped merrily overhead, and I had a hard time prying my eyes open. Which was strange. Sleep didn't normally cling this tightly to me.

My mind drifted. Thoughts of Siena and her epic bouts of deep sleep came to mind, and I smiled as I recalled the first time I had heard about the new visitor to Foresthome. I was eight or nine at the time. Bren had shooed everyone out when the young Iceling had woken up and freaked out. I'd stayed outside the doorway with some of my friends, straining to hear the conversation inside.

When Bren finally came out, she'd said, "I thought I told you lot to get out."

"We are out," I remember saying, planting my hands on my hips.

My friends had stared at me, and I imagined them admiring my bravery.

Sometimes I missed being a kid.

"We should head out. It's getting late." A raspy voice pulled me back to the present. "We don't have to carry her again, do we?"

Who was that? And were they talking about me?

I renewed my efforts to wake up.

Why was I so darn groggy?

I groaned as I rubbed my eyes. My head felt like that time I'd sneaked a jug of ale—just to try it—and ended up finishing the whole thing. Actually, no, my head felt like the morning after I'd drunk the ale. Throbbing and full of mud.

"Corin," the unfamiliar voice called. "She's awake."

Finally, finally, my eyes opened. I found myself on a bedroll, under a warm blanket.

"Well, hello there," a new voice said.

I focused on the blurry face in front of me. Blinked. Rubbed my eyes again. Was the man's face covered in . . . hair?

"You must be Nirrin," he said, his voice warm with welcome.

"Um." I stared. A quick glance around assured me I was still in the forest, but in a makeshift camp of some kind. And there was nothing wrong with my eyes. The man crouching in front of me really was covered in brown hair. Like a wolf? No, longer than wolf fur. Maybe like the hair on a squirrel's tail? Or maybe—

"Please forgive my appearance," the man said, a regretful look in his eyes. "We keep to ourselves, and sometimes I forget."

My wits slammed back into place, and I pushed myself to a sitting position. I recalled Fen saying something about no one in his group looking normal. Had we found them, then? When had that happened? Last I remembered, I had settled for a quick nap against a tree. At night. Now it was broad daylight.

I returned my attention back to the hairy man. "Um, where am I? And where's Fen?"

"Fen?"

"I mean, Fenrook. The guy I was with." There was no sign of him at the camp, and it wasn't like he was easy to miss.

The hairy man tilted his head, reminding me of the way Fen did when he was studying me. Despite all the hair. "He's scouting ahead."

"Oh." My mouth twisted with irritation. Not only did I mysteriously wind up with this group of strangers in the middle of who-knows-where, but Fen was conveniently unavailable to make introductions. Or explanations. Or anything at all.

Fine. I didn't need him anyway.

I pushed my irritation aside. I had yet to encounter an awkward situation that I couldn't talk my way through. "So, you already know I'm Nirrin. What's your name?"

His perfectly normal teeth contrasted against the brown waves on his face when he smiled. "Corin. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Finally meet me? "You've heard of me?"

His smile faltered, and he turned away to rummage in a nearby pack. "You must be hungry."

"Don't tell me you're going to feed her." That first raspy voice I'd heard crackled with aggravation. "We should tie her up, just to be safe."

I looked over Corin's shoulder and found another man standing there, arms crossed, a scowl on his whiskered face.

Wait, whiskers? Like a wildcat? His nose and mouth protruded into a small snout. The scowl was unmistakable though, and revealed a set of fangs that I wouldn't want anywhere near my neck.

"That's right, stare at the freak," he spat.

Fen had pretty much said the same thing when we first started talking. It was a terrible motto, if you asked me.

My irritation came back in full force. "Just so you know, you're staring at me just as hard. I just met you people, so cut me some slack." I pointed at him. "Did you hear that? I called you a person. So save your poor-me-I'm-a-freak rat piss for someone else."

Corin erupted in laughter, causing his hair to sway. It was hard to tell how old he was—even the backs of his hands were covered in hair—but the wrinkles around his eyes gave me the sense he was middle-aged. "I never thought I'd see the day we found someone feistier than you, Minocken."

The whiskered man curled a lip at me—further revealing a long, pointy tooth—and stalked away.

Who are these people? Ooh maybe new voters!