Drift: River of Falcons Book 1

Shelter

As soon as Vultan was out of sight, Atratus cleared his throat and announced, "Once your masters have left, you will return to your dormitories." He paused and eyed the lines of sober young men. "As you fall asleep, give thought to what happens to traitors here at the Keep."

Sleep? Not by-the-Spirits likely! Jasper muttered as the assembly broke up. Not for me, anyway. It had been he who had used the pigeon; not to warn Drift and Ubi, as it happened, although he would have if he'd known of their danger. He had used it to send an update to June, which, he reflected, would have been equally worthy of punishment in Vultan's eyes. He shivered as he walked back and tried to avoid his fellow apprentices, most of whom who were whispering excitedly about what had happened.

*

As Drift approached, Ubi pointed to the fern-covered ground by his feet, where an animal was caught by a hind leg in the wire of a hunter's snare.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked.

Drift knelt down and squinted to maximize her Spirit-sight. The animal was curled on its side, its paws over its face. It had a long body with relatively short legs, and it was covered with rich brown fur. Its tail was long and tapered, and it had small, neat ears and long whiskers. Drift thought at first it was dead. "It's an otter," she said. "Like that constellation on the goose egg. Lutra Minor. I've seen them catching fish in the river."

"Is it dead?" Ubi asked.

"No, but he'll die if we leave him in the snare. Easy there," she added in a soothing tone. "We're going to get you out. Just stay still and please don't bite me. Noli me mordere."

The otter removed its forepaws from its face and looked up at Drift with large, dark eyes. It nodded its head.

"Does that mean it understands you?" Ubi asked.

Drift sat back. "He MAY HAVE gotten my general meaning, but nodding his head was just a coincidence. Do you have your knife?"

Ubi pulled out the folding knife. "Here," he said.

"Thanks. You hold him."

"It might bite me," Ubi protested.

"Seriously?"

"I'm not touching it," Ubi insisted.

"I can do it myself. Stay still," she repeated to the otter as she gently touched the leg. When it didn't pull it away, she wrapped her hand around it. Next, she slipped the tip of the blade beneath the thin wire loop. The otter jerked in a pain reflex, but then held still again, watching her intently. It was unusually cooperative for a wild animal. That was, in Drift's experience, a bad sign. It typically meant the animal was weak. Probably an infection setting in. "Go find me some bark from a birch tree."

"Why?" Ubi asked.

"To help with the pain and swelling, and to hold a poultice in place. Here's your knife."

"Oh. Okay," Ubi said.

"Hurry."

The otter continued to lie on the grass, looking up at Drift with large brown eyes. It turned, and Drift hoped it would not run off before she could treat it. She made a soothing sound to reassure it.

It imitated the sound almost identically. Surprised, she leaned over to look at it more closely. That was when she noticed that it was pushing something with its nose. It pushed the thing again. It was the stem of a wildflower with broad leaves and small white petals.

"Goldenseal," Drift said. "Perfect!" She dug down into the moist earth at the bottom of the stem, found a thick tuber of root, and broke the tip off. The otter watched her as she worked.