Chapter 3
Deryn was pretty sure it would take him a week to dry out. Every part of him was wet and cold and he longed for a warm fire and a dram of whisky more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
As he trudged through the dripping landscape, Mara trotting at his side, Surly plodding along behind, that thought kept him going, drawing him ever onward like a moth to a flame.
Surly had run a long way this time and as a result, Deryn was many miles from home. It seemed no matter what measure he took, the ram would always find a way of escaping. He’d have to think of something else to try and keep the recalcitrant beast where he should be.
“Next time I’ll leave ye to the weather,” he said over his shoulder. “How would ye like that?”
Surly stared at him darkly.
At least the rain had eased. The sky was still a wall of gray from end to end and the wind was still strong enough to squeeze tears from his eyes but at least it no longer drove freezing rain into his face. To the east he even thought he spotted a tiny sliver of lighter sky, as though the sun was trying to break through. It would certainly be welcome when it did.
He was walking along the line of a crumbling dry-stone wall, his boots squishing on the waterlogged ground, when a strangled cry broke him from his thoughts. He lifted his head.That had sounded like a woman! He stopped, looking around. It came again, a cry of anguish and fear.
He spun towards it. “Hello?” he called. “Is anyone there?”
There was no answer. Whistling to Mara and yanking Surly’s tether, he jogged in that direction, peering all around. He saw no one. The landscape was empty and wind-blasted, the sighing of the pines and the whisper of the wind the only sound.
Mara suddenly pricked her ears and whined. She stared off to Deryn’s left. “Go on then, girl,” he said. “Go find.”
The sheepdog took off, following a scent only she could detect, and Deryn followed as quickly as the slippery ground would allow. Mara headed downhill to where the land broke into a series of channels and gullies that had been dug for drainage long ago. Some of those gullies were wide and deep, and after the heavy rains, filled with fast-running run-off that gushed along as swiftly as any river.
It was on the edge of one of these gullies that Mara stopped, looking down and barking. Deryn leaned over and peered into its depths. The gully was flooded, churning gray water rushing through the narrow channel carrying bits of vegetation and other flotsam. A crumbling bridge across the gully formed an arch beneath which the water rushed. And clinging to the side of the channel, desperately trying to keep out of the flow, was a woman.
She looked up, her face pale, her eyes round with fear. “Help!” she called in a plaintive voice.
Her position was precarious, as the flimsy roots she was clinging to could be swept away any moment. Deryn didn’t hesitate. Pulling Surly over, he took the tether from around the ram’s neck and threw the looped end down to the woman.
“Put the loop around yer waist and tighten it,” he shouted. “I’ll pull ye up.”
The woman took one hand from the roots she was clinging to, grabbed the rope, and did as he asked.
“Ready?” he shouted. “Try to climb up. There should be enough handholds. I’ll keep the rope tight so ye willnae fall.”
She swallowed thickly but nodded. She slowly uncurled her fingers and reached up to grab a rock sticking out from the bank and put her foot onto a root a bit further up. Both held her weight and Deryn passed the slack around his waist, holding the rope with both hands and digging his feet into the ground in case she should fall.
