Abhorsen by Garth Nix Page B

back on her feet, sword in hand even before she realized she’d drawn it, as the Dog catapulted past her with a sudden bark. It took Lirael a moment to hear that the bark had no magical resonance, then another to spot the target of the Dog’s attack.
    A rabbit zigzagged between the fallen stones, desperately trying to evade the pursuing Dog. The chase ended some distance away, but it was not clear with what result. Then a great plume of dirt, dust, and stones flew up, and Lirael knew the rabbit had gone to ground and the Dog had begun to dig.
    Sam was still sitting next to his pack. He had half-risen several seconds after Lirael, had caught on what was happening, and had sat back down. Now he was looking at the torn hole in the top flap of his pack.
    “At least we’re alive,” said Lirael, mistaking his silent scrutiny of the tear for remorse at the loss of Mogget.
    Sam looked up, surprised. He had a sewing kit in his hand and was about to open it.
    “Oh, I wasn’t thinking about Mogget. At least not right then. I was wondering how best to sew up this hole. I’ll have to patch it, I think.”
    Lirael laughed, a peculiar half-hearted sort of laugh that just escaped her.
    “I’m glad you can think of patches,” she said. “I . . . I can’t help thinking of what happened. The bells trying to sound, the white lady . . . Astarael . . . the presence of Death.”
    Sam selected a large needle and bit off a length of black thread from a bobbin. He frowned as he threaded the needle, then spoke off to the setting sun, not directly to Lirael.
    “It’s strange, you know. Since I learned that you were the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, not me, I haven’t felt afraid. I mean I’ve been scared, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not responsible now. I mean, I am responsible because I’m a Prince of the Kingdom, but it’s normal things I’m responsible for now. Not necromancers and Death and Free Magic creatures.”
    He paused to knot the end of the thread, and this time he did look at Lirael.
    “And the sendings gave me this surcoat. With the trowel. The Wallmakers’ trowel. They gave it to me, and I’ve been thinking that it’s as if my ancestors are saying it’s all right to make things. That’s what I’m meant to do. Make things, and help the Abhorsen and the King. So I’ll do that, and I’ll do my best, and if my best isn’t good enough, at least I will have done everything I could, everything that is in me. I don’t have to try to be someone else, someone I could never be.”
    Lirael didn’t answer. Instead, she looked away, back to where the Dog was returning, a limp rabbit in her jaws.
    “Dimsher,” pronounced the Dog, repeating herself more clearly after she dropped the rabbit at Lirael’s feet. Her tail had started to wag again, just at the tip. “Dinner. I’ll get another one.”
    Lirael picked up the rabbit. The Dog had broken its neck, killing it instantly. Lirael could feel its spirit close by in Death, but she walled it out. It hung heavy in her hand, and she wished that they could simply have eaten the bread and cheese the sendings had packed for them. But dogs will be dogs, she thought, and if rabbits beckon . . .
    “I’ll skin it,” offered Sam.
    “How will we cook it?” asked Lirael, gladly handing over the rabbit. She had eaten rabbits before, but only either raw, in her Charter-skin of a barking owl, or cooked and served in the refectories of the Clayr.
    “A small fire under one of these boulders should be all right,” replied Sam. “In a little while, anyway. The smoke won’t be visible, and we can shield the flame well.”
    “I’ll leave it to you,” said Lirael. “The Dog will eat hers raw, I’m sure.”
    “You should sleep,” said Sam as he tested the blade of a short knife with his thumb. “You can get an hour while I prepare the rabbit.”
    “Looking after your old aunt,” said Lirael with a smile. She was only two years older than Sameth, but she had once told him