The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver Page A

looked different too. He was broader, and as tall as a tree. Worst of all, he didn’t sound like the boy she had known; his voice was much deeper.
    As the lion cub went off to hunt, her wariness grew. This boy was scared of her, but the boy who’d looked after her long ago had never been scared.
    And the boy in the lair had lashed out at her with fire and his big shiny claw. So even if he was the same boy, he had become like all the others.
    He was just another human. And the lion cub would never trust a human, not ever again.

    Was it really Havoc? wondered Hylas as he followed the paw prints through the snow.
    He’d glimpsed a young lion. But had he really seen that scar on her nose? Even if he had, lots of lions had scars.
    He tried to remember if Pirra had ever said there were lions on Keftiu. He thought she’d said there weren’t, but if he was wrong . . .
    One thing was certain: Those paw prints in the cave were real. While he slept, she’d stood right over him. Surely no other lion would have done that?
    It began to snow. To the west, the slope fell away to a forested saddle that looked as if it led to the peak of Mount Dikti. Pirra was somewhere up there; but the trail of paw prints climbed south, toward a rocky ridge that led away from the peak.
    Pirra needed him—but so did Havoc. The lion cub was only a yearling; she couldn’t survive for long with no pride to help her hunt. And it was his fault that she was here on Keftiu.
    Hylas rubbed his chin and stomped in circles. If this snow kept up, those tracks wouldn’t last long. He blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Pirra,” he said out loud. “I will come and find you. But I have to find Havoc first.”
    He hadn’t climbed far up the ridge when he came upon a grimy little pus-eater glaring down at him from a boulder.
    His breath smoked in the frosty air, and around him the pines stood watchful and silent.
    By now he’d learned that Keftians put pus-eaters not only by dwellings, but also by tombs, to catch the Plague wafting from the newly dead. Sure enough, a little farther on, he spotted a small tomb cut into the ridge. Whoever had sealed it had been in a hurry. Stones had been clawed away from the entrance, and to judge from the harsh croaks of ravens, the corpse inside had been dragged out by hungry scavengers.
    A dreadful thought occurred to Hylas. Had Havoc become a man-eater?
    His boots crunched in the stillness as he detoured around the pus-eater and followed the paw prints toward the tomb. Ravens flew away with loud caws, and a fox slunk off.
    Havoc didn’t. She lay tensely on her belly with her head between her shoulder blades. Watching him.
    It was her. She’d doubled in size since last year, and her fur was thick and shaggy, but he saw how thin she was underneath. She was still a cub—a gawky yearling—who must have survived by scavenging what she could. Was that why she’d hunkered down near the bones of the human dead?
    No , thought Hylas. I won’t believe it. She can’t be a man-eater, not Havoc.
    â€œHavoc?” he called softly. “It’s me, Hylas. Do you remember me?”
    Havoc lashed her tail and hissed, baring huge white fangs. Her eyes were colder than he’d ever seen them, and she stared at him without recognition.
    â€œHavoc, what’s happened to you?”
    Her huge claws kneaded the snow, as if she was getting ready to spring.
    His hand went to his knife. This can’t be, he thought.
    With a snarl she sprang away and vanished like a ghost among the pines.
    â€œHavoc!” he shouted.
    She didn’t come back. She hadn’t recognized him.

    The lion cub fled up the mountain with the boy’s yowls fading behind her. It was him, she was sure of it. She remembered his eyes and his lion-colored mane—and she sensed the lion in his spirit. But he’d changed, she was sure of that too. He was almost a man. And