I thought about it for a moment. “I think I’ll take a run out in the woods. Maybe I’ll find something,” I said. “I promise, I won’t get myself caught up in a tree again.”
“You’d better not,” she said. “Menolly’s not awake to get you out. Okay, I’m off. Call me if you need anything. I’ll take the box with me.”
As she headed over to her Lexus, I watched her go, wishing I had her confidence. Camille knew who she was in the world, and she was confident enough to walk through it with her head held high. I was still trying to figure out my life. And that, right now, seemed a bigger task than anything I’d ever tackled before.
I stretched. The snow was coming down again, and I turned my face toward the sky, letting the flakes cover me. The world over here loomed so vast and large that I wondered if it would ever feel familiar. I wanted to feel at home. I wanted to stop being a Windwalker. I wanted to find my roots.
CHAPTER FOUR
The forest was alive today. Even with the storm, it felt like everything felt alive rather than in hibernation. The sound of animals crunching through the frozen layers kept me alert. There were cougars in the area, and some black bears, though they generally didn’t come out during the winter. We also had coyotes—and now, apparently coyote shifters—and foxes, squirrels and feral cats, and bobcats and, well, the Pacific Northwest was home to more animals than even the woods surrounding Y’Elestrial.
I tugged my jacket tighter and finally gave in and zipped it up. I had grabbed a knit cap, scarf, and gloves that Iris had made for me from the house before heading out, and now I was glad I had. The temperature was down to thirty-one, just below freezing, and like most of the area, Seattle was known for its wet-cold. Dry cold was easier to handle; the lack of humidity made the cold and snow easier to manage.
I set off on the trail down to Birchwater Pond, pausing as I saw Cromwell heading my way. I didn’t feel like shifting, so I knelt down, squatting on my heels as he meandered over. I held out my gloved hand and he sniffed it, then rubbed against the side of my fingers. He never did that around anyone else.
“I’m looking for something,” I said. “But I’m not sure what. Something that shouldn’t be here. Something malevolent…”
Cromwell stared at me for a moment, then bumped his head against my foot, turned around, and began to walk deeper into the woods. He paused and looked back, letting out a soft meow.
“Do you want me to follow you?” I asked.
He meowed again.
“Hold on,” I said. I stood and focused on my Tabby nature, feeling the transformation coming on. I began to change: bones morphing, skin changing, form shifting. It hurt, and yet it didn’t. One moment I was my human self, and the next—I was staring at the world through feline eyes. When I was younger, the change had disoriented me for a few moments, but after so many years of shape-shifting, it felt entirely natural.
I turned to Cromwell. He patiently waited. Where are we going?
Follow me. I found something the other day. It doesn’t belong. He turned back to the path and began to pad through the snow, shaking his paws every few steps. The white rain’s too cold, he added, and I noticed he was walking with an almost imperceptible limp.
I thought to ask him about it, but cats hid their pain—it made them vulnerable, and that was dangerous in the wild world. How old are you? I wasn’t sure he would understand the concept of time, though I knew he understood later and before.
Old? My mother birthed me long ago. I’ve seen many nights since I was a kitten.
I had the feeling Cromwell was up there in age. He looked old, and one of his ears was ragged; probably from a fight. He led me through the woods toward the pond. Finally, he stopped next to a stone carved like a red-capped mushroom. They called them fly agaric here. At home they’d been called portal mushrooms because they were connected with doorways and portals and magical entrances. The stone was about seven inches tall.
I stared at it for a moment. There was magic there—I could feel it in my bones.
Where did this come from?
I don’t know, but I can tell you, it wasn’t here seven befores ago.
Cromwell often used the word ‘before’ to mean a day.
Seven suns ago?
Yes. It appeared early one morning. I was here, chasing a mouse, and it wasn’t here. Then I came back and it was. It brings danger. Can you feel it?
I studied the stone. Sure enough, I could feel a malevolence emanating from it. This stone did indeed feel menacing. I glanced around, looking for anything that might be connected to it, but there didn’t seem to be anything else in the area.
Do you know who brought it here?
Cromwell paused, staring at the stone. His whiskers twitched. He said, Little men. Mean men. I ran, because they bring great danger.
Little men? Just how little was he talking? What kind of little men? Short humans?
No, the little men. They smell like blood, and they love to hurt. I stay away from here because they might come back. We should leave.
Cromwell had once stood up to a pit bull—I knew that from listening to his stories. If he was afraid of these little men, then they must be dangerous.
