Red Moon Rising by K. A. Holt Page B

and scrub. No tracks. No one in sight. No Cheese, either. I want to ask Papa about the Cheese at Old Settlement—Fist. I want to know how they met, how long they’ve been working together. ButPapa’s mood is temperamental at best and if I were to anger him he might just forbid me to come on trips like this ever again—leave me at home to do the wash with Aunt Billie.
    It may be Papa’s curse and Aunt Billie’s fathomless sadness, but it is our greatest blessing, mine and Temple’s, that there are no boys in our family. We have freedoms other girls in the township do not have. If you count memorizing poultice recipes, pushing boulders, and bouncing your nose off in a one-man to be great freedoms. Which I do.
    My biscuit is gone, though my belly growls still. I pick the crumbs from the front of my blouse and lick them from my dirty fingers.
    A loud caw breaks through the whistling wind and all four of our heads jerk to the sky as if some mighty hand has yanked a string. The dactyl swoops low once, twice, and then begins a high circle around us.
    Boone and I jump up. Our handbows are in the one-man. But Papa holds his arm out to stop us. He holds a finger to his lips and never takes his eyes from the sky. His head is tilted so far back his hat must be staying on by sheer force of will.
    The dactyl is huge, glittering in the sky. Each of its scales must be at least as large as my head. I can feel my breath coming in spikes, my chest tightening. Oh no. Not now. Easy, I think. Keep it calm, Rae. Easy now. The edges of my sight are going dark as I struggle to right my breathing. Temple takes my hands, looks into my eyes. She starts counting in a whisper.
    â€œOne. Two. Three. Four.” I count with her. We get to twenty-five before the darkness goes away. I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. I reach down for my canteen, but my shaky hand knocks it from one boulder to the next, making a clattering sound that can probably be heard on the Red Crescent itself.
    The dactyl shrieks and dives and we all instinctively flatten ourselves to the scrub. The creature has gotten so close this time I can see that it has no rider. Wild dactyls aren’t unheard of, but usually they fly in packs. A lone wild dactyl . . . I turn my head, the scrub scratching at my face, and look at Temple. She gives me a shaky shrug and grabs my hand.
    The air-splitting screeches of the creature are fading now and I glance up into the burning pink sky to see it retreating, flying in a direction I’ve never been—away from both the township and the cooling flats. There must be a nest nearby. Papa will have to ask the scholars to add it to the maps.
    â€œWhere’s it going?” Boone asks, sitting up and shaking dirt and scrub from his hair, which is longer than mine since I had my way with the shears.
    â€œAway from here,” Papa says. “And that’s all that matters.” He stands and helps Temple to her feet. I scramble up on my own, grabbing my canteen, which has rolled to the ground. No one makes mention of my clumsiness or breathing attack. But they don’t have to. I can feel it in the silence around us. I am a liability. I will get us all killedsomeday if I can’t be more careful, if I can’t make better decisions. The problem is, I seem to cause dire circumstances by trying to save people, by trying to drink from a canteen. I will get us all killed someday for just being Rae.
    Without another word, we set off again toward the cooling flats. We’ll have to camp tonight no matter what, but I know Papa wants to get as far as possible the first day. I do, too.

9
    I WANT TO DRINK THE air. The cooling flats gleam in the light of the suns, throwing a blue haze against the ever-present Red Crescent. I feel like I can breathe all the way to my toes. Something about the flats doesn’t just cool the air, but quiets the winds, too. Each lungful of air is equal to ten dusty