Hunter's Moon by Sophie Masson Page B

I saw that the cream leather was stained with red, and I knew that my feet must be bleeding inside the tightly fitting shoes.
    The sight of the blood made my gorge rise and I was sick under a tree, the violent spasms tearing through me like the repeated stab of a knife. When at last the spasms stopped, I sat huddled and trembling on the ground, waves of dizziness washing over me as the horror and terror of what had happened sank in deeper and deeper. I could hardly believe what had happened. My mind fluttered wildly. Could Drago have been lying? But why would he? He was Belladonna’s most trusted, most loyal servant.
    Belladonna had sent me into the woods to die. If Drago had not inexplicably spared me, I would be lying dead in theclearing right now, my heart cut out. I put a hand over my mouth as the sick threatened to rise up again. Why would she do such a thing? Never had she shown any sign that she hated me. Yet only if you hated someone could you plan to do something so terrible, so cold. All this time, she must have been pretending to love me. All this time, when I thought she wanted the best for me, she must have only thought of the moment when she would be rid of me. But why? And why had Drago spared me? My mind fluttered like a frightened bird in a cage as I tried to make sense of it. But I could not. I was too numb. Too shaky. Too struck to the heart.
    After a few moments, I stumbled to my feet. I had to keep going. I had to find shelter before it fell dark and the wild beasts came out. The one thing I did know by then was that Drago had not led us along a shortcut through to Mormest at all, but into some remote part of the forest where there would be few people. Surely, though, no place is truly completely abandoned. Surely I would find someone. Something. A woodcutter’s hut. A charcoal burner’s camp. A cave. A hollow tree. Anything would do.
    I walked and walked, still not feeling my blistered and bleeding feet as the thin soles of my boots wore through even further, not caring that the hem of my skirt was getting ripped and torn and filthy from being pulled through so many brambles and being dragged along the earth as I stumbled and fell.
    But as the grey cloudy light began to fade and the shadows thickened and darkened, I still had not found a place in which to hide and when, distantly, from somewhere far behind me, I heard the howl of wolves, I knew I had to stop or risk being hunted down by a hungry packwhich would be drawn to me by the sweat of fear and the scent of blood.
    Knowing that wolves can’t climb, I decided to climb a tree. Though I’d be done for if any bears or lynx came hunting, too, I could only think of one danger at a time. I looked around and saw a tree with low branches that I could get into. I saw that my heavy serge skirt would get in the way, so I took it off and bundled it into a swag. Clad in my petticoat and long johns with my coat over the top, I climbed the tree, grateful that as a child I had climbed lots of trees with Rafiel and Margy. Rafiel had been the best at it, but I came a close second.
    The thought of my long-lost friends and those long-ago happy days made my eyes swim with tears so that I nearly lost my grip on the branch. I could not allow my mind to wander. If I were to survive this night, I had to keep my mind clear and focused and not allow myself to be distracted by anything.
    It was easier said than done. After I found a fork between two branches, which would serve as a resting place for the night, and wedged myself as comfortably as I could within it, the bundled skirt acting as a cushion, I could not prevent my thoughts from skittering around like terrified mice. I could not stop the waves of nausea that threatened to surge up out of my throat, or the pounding at my temples and the throbbing of my injured feet. I did not dare to take off my boots in case it made the smell of blood stronger, and as the evening advanced and turned into night, I