Wolf Sirens Night Fall: What Rises Must Fall (Wolf Sirens #3) by Tina Smith Page B

branches and
waded into the Artemis. There was an aged carving on the trunk, a
cross with the initials T&R inside a heart, with four lines
coming out behind it and a half crescent around it.
    I wondered if
it was his absence that caused the rain. There was no part of me
that didn’t wish I was with him. Thinking he didn’t feel for me
what I felt for him drained my existence of any light. I still
wanted to see him, to lose myself in his sapphire eyes, to inhale
the heat from his hot skin. I wanted the sensation his hands
holding me and at the same time I didn’t want to feel it, because
it meant the death of the huntress. Did he leave me willingly, did
he have a choice? What really bothered me was why he didn’t fight
to get back to me, as hard as I fought to get back to him. But I
couldn’t let him go, not until I knew why.
    I eyed the
cross slashed into the bark, through the rain drops as I sank under
the water. Below the slow rapids, I listened to the water rush past
my ears. I was drowning in my own emotions. Rising in the water I
imagined many lovers had enjoyed the hidden spot before on a
summer’s day. Perhaps the names in the heart had been jilted.
    Tisane was
right, I had to believe her religion and I did, whether I admitted
it or not. I felt it. I felt it every god damn day inside myself
and in the forest – the wolves were hard evidence of the Gods. If
her spells were real, then I wanted to participate in one to help
me obliterate the Cult and free Sky from them and I thought about
that intently.
    On the way home
from the river, I stayed off the beaten path, navigating the trees.
I had taken to hunting rabbits and other game with a bow, due to
the fact that gunfire was a more conspicuous style of weapon. I
didn’t want to attract the attention of the wolves. I was alerted
to an animal present in the saplings. I silenced my movements. My
eyes wandered through the branches until my pupils found the sight
of a deer, a stag in the shadows. Beautiful, as it shifted to graze
the bright new shoots of grass sprouted by the rain.
    I stilled my
breath. My arm moved to remove the bow from my back as my other
fingers, carefully and steadily, felt for the quills of my arrows
with a warrior’s patience. I readied the instrument as a moment
stood still and not even the leaves wavered in the breeze. I
swallowed as I stealthily took aim; my body tense, as I drew back
my bow, breathing quietly through the movement and determined to
strike the creature that unknowingly lay in wait ahead. Its slight
ears keenly listening for any rustle. I released the bow and it
swiftly struck the deer.
    Quickly I gave
chase; as I neared him he stumbled in the grass. I knelt beside
him. The arrow had hit near his back leg and he flailed as I closed
in. I pulled my knife, one hand stroking his neck as he struggled.
Then I cut him deeply, pushing the knife into his neck to drain the
blood.
    I carried the
young Sambar stag home, its grey blood-soaked fur over my shoulder
staining the collar of my shirt, its wide reflective eyes open to
stare blankly at the world. Damp with sweat, I emerged from the
forest into the light and placed its lifeless body carefully across
the wooden verandah, lying its weight down across the boards.
    We knelt at its
side on the floor and she sprinkled salted water over its body to
bless it and set its spirit free. Tisane, once recovered from the
shock, bravely helped me skin it. It seemed a shame to waste the
meat. She looked a little pale and acted jumpy as I carved its warm
flesh. I sliced deeply down its belly; I held my breath, digging
the sharp blade in with force.
    The deer in our
forest weren’t native; they had originally escaped from nearby
farms where they had been bred for meat. Their numbers had
multiplied. I guess no one cared because I’m sure they would rather
the wolves eat feral deer than to have a thirst for human
flesh.
    I removed its
fresh internal organs, placing them a bucket, pulling out the