COVERING THE TRACKS

In the end all Rory could ever hear were the pad, pad sounds of the hound’s great paws everywhere he went.

—THE LEGEND OF THE SHRIKER

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TYMM RAN DOWN THE MOONLIT ROAD, WAVING HIS ARMS in warning. “Oh, you’re in a deal of trouble!” he shouted. He ran once around Miles, as a puppy would, then tugged his arm to pull him toward the cottage. “Da’s angry, and Mother’s crying,” he panted. “Hanna was attacked by a wolf while she waited for you at the byway.”

Miles wanted to shout, “Not Hanna! I didn’t touch her!” But he held his tongue.

“Da will likely whip you with the switch for being late to fetch her.” Tymm skipped along happily. As the one who most often got a lashing, he seemed to welcome the idea of sharing the attention with his brother.

Miles entered the cottage and found Mother, crying, just as Tymm had said. “Where’s Hanna?” he asked.

“Where indeed!” boomed Da. “You were sent to meet your sister at the byway. What happened to you, boy?”

“I … I took a fall,” said Miles.

“Look,” said Mother, rising from her chair “He’s cut!”

“It’s nothing,” said Miles, reaching for his neck. “I washed the blood off in the river.”

“And while you were having a little bath, your sister was attacked!” growled Da.

“And she was nearly kilt, wasn’t she!” said Tymm, who now sat halfway up the ladder to the loft.

“Now, don’t be saying that,” scolded Mother. “The wolf only tore her skirt, but oh, to think what that creature might have done.” She wiped a tear from her damp cheek.

Da crossed his arms and looked down at Miles, his face furrowed like a field before the planting. “I’ve told you time and again you’re to care for your sister.”

Miles wanted to shout, “But I was taking care of her. It was Mic and Cully who tore her skirt, and I ran down to help her.” But he managed to clamp his mouth shut until the hot words cooled. Da turned his face away as if he was ashamed to look at him, and that hurt far more than a slap would have, or any stinging lashes with the willow switch, for that matter.

“Is Hanna in her room?” asked Miles.

“Aye,” said Mother. “but she’s likely sleeping now. I gave her some tamalla herb to calm her soul.”

“I’ll Just go see.” Miles took a candle from the table and went down the hall.

“Hanna?” he whispered, setting the candle down on the table by her cot.

Hanna turned over. “Oh, Miles. It was terrible. Where were you?” She blinked up at him, her eyes nearly matching colors in the candle’s glow.

“I was on my way to you. But … the hour was late.”

“Aye. Late. Did Da tell you about the wolf?”

Miles sat down on the edge of her cot. “He did. And more than told me.”

“Aye, Da was terrible angry when Cully brought me home in the cart and told him what had happened.”

“Cully?”

“He drove me home.” She shook her head, “Poor Mic’s arm was torn open, and broken besides. Oh, there was so much blood. His da had to send for the Falconer to medicine him. The Falconer had spent the night in Brim to tend little Effie’s burns. He was only just on his way home when he turned back for Mic.”

Miles put his head in his hands, trying to take it all in. He’d broken Mic’s arm, and his teacher, his own teacher, had been called upon to cure him.

“How could you let Cully bring you home when he’d torn your skirt?” he asked hoarsely.

“He never did!” said Hanna. “Is that what Mother said? I tore it myself on the kirkyard fence.”

“So Mic and Cully—”

“They were teasing me, as they ever do. I’d have kicked them in the shins if I could, but there were two of them.” She frowned. Her face twitched, then she suddenly brightened, “But Cully was brave as ever in helping me stone the wolf.”

“Oh, Hanna,” sighed Miles.

She reached up and touched his arm. “I know you’re sorry you weren’t there to help me fight off the wolf, but Cully was there, so you needn’t …”

Miles drew away from her touch and lurched toward the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Hanna. “I told you it’s all right.”

He half stumbled into the narrow hall, then shut his sister’s door.