The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver

“Hey you!” he yelled.
    The bull jolted to a halt and glared up at him.
    â€œThere’s another bull round the back!” shouted Hylas, trailing the thatch. “He’s after your female!”
    The bull swung its massive head from side to side. Then it charged Hylas’ handful of thatch—and chased it around the corner of the hut.
    The bull saw the cart and again jolted to a halt. It saw the red wristband flapping in the wind. It snorted, pawed the earth—and charged.
    Praying it would be too busy to notice him, Hylas slid off the other side and splashed across the stream, snatching his waterskin as he went, then scrambled up the side of the gully to safety.
    He glanced back once, and saw the cow and her calf solemnly watching their master savage the cart to splinters.

    Two days later, Hylas found a cave and made camp for the night.
    At a frozen stream he broke the ice with his axe and filled his waterskin; then he woke a fire inside the cave and huddled over it, chewing a chunk of pig’s leg.
    He was exhausted, and he missed Periphas. In some ways, the Messenian reminded him of Akastos, the mysterious wanderer he’d encountered in the past. Both had fled homelands invaded by the Crows; both could be harsh and withdrawn, but they had been roughly kind to Hylas.
    He was cold too. The mountains were deep in snow. His legs ached from laboring up snowbound gorges and through steep forests of silent pines.
    And he was frightened. He’d come upon few huts and fewer ghosts, and yet a sense of dread had been growing on him all day. He dreaded the monster Gorgo had warned him about. It couldn’t have been the bull, she must know about wild bulls, and she wouldn’t have called it a monster. So what was it?
    He feared the Crows too. Gorgo had mistaken him for a Crow spy—so she must regard them as a threat. The Crows’ stronghold was far away across the Sea, but they were a mighty clan, and now that they had their dagger back, they would be even stronger.
    Was it possible that they were here, on Keftiu?

    The fire cast leaping shadows on the cave wall. Sleepily, Hylas made a shadow-rabbit with his hand. He used to do that for Issi, especially in winter, when the nights were long. They used to play at warriors with icicles as swords, and Issi had been a lethal shot with a snowball.
    But most of all, she loved water. The summer she’d turned six, he’d taught her to swim with a blown-up goat bladder for a float. In half a day, she’d been better than him, and after that she was always in any stream or lake they came upon. He used to tease her that she’d grow webbed feet, like her beloved frogs . . .
    He woke with a start to the chill certainty that he wasn’t alone.
    He heard harsh, panting breath. In the dark at the back of the cave, something moved.
    Drawing his knife and seizing a burning brand, Hylas swept the shadows. He caught the gleam of eyes. His blood ran cold. Wolf? Bear? Monster?
    Suddenly the creature sped past him. Hylas flung himself against the wall. As the creature fled the cave, it glanced back, and he glimpsed matted fur, huge golden eyes—and a scar across its nose.
    His heart lurched. “ Havoc? ” he cried.

10
    T he boy stood at the mouth of his lair, peering into the Dark. He couldn’t see her, the lion cub was certain.
    Was it the boy who’d looked after her long ago?
    When she’d caught his scent lower down the mountain, it had scratched at her heart and she’d been desperate to go to him. Fear had taken over—but she hadn’t been able to make herself leave, so she’d followed him through the not-Light and into the Dark. She’d even padded into his lair and sniffed him while he slept. She still didn’t know if it was him.
    His scent had changed. It was more like that of a full-grown man, and he also smelled strongly of sheep, which was odd. He never used to smell of sheep.
    He