Page 75 of Pippa of Lauramore
She is stretched out on her stomach like I am, holding Leonora by her wrists. I didn’t even feel her kneel, but somehow, she caught Leonora.
I grab Leonora’s hands, my grip now tight, and Marigold and I pull her to safety. We huddle together, crying because of what almost was.
“Thank you,” I say to Marigold, sobbing. “Thank you.”
Tears run down her dirt-stained cheeks, and she nods.
We are free.
The trail leadingto the cave is the first place the bandits will look when they’re done with the tunnels. I don’t like it, but the only safe way to escape is through the thick woods.
I’m not sure where we’re at, although I think we’regoing the right direction. Soon, we’ll hit a terrace wall and, if I’m correct, another trail.
It’s all so different in the deep night. I’m not sure what time it is, so I keep looking to what I think is the eastern horizon. Eventually, it will lighten.
I check again, but it’s still black.
We don’t say much as we walk. I can tell Leonora and Marigold are nearly as scared of the night as they were of the cave. I am too if I’m truthful with myself. It’s different on foot, especially when you’re following animal trails which disappear and reappear at random.
A distant, sharp shriek cuts through the night. We all freeze, listening.
It’s only a mountain cat.
Once again, I reach for my bow only to remember it isn’t on my back. “Keep moving.”
As I step forward, a branch swipes across my cheek. I grumble under my breath, pushing the branch back and holding it out of the way as Marigold and Leonora pass by. I make my way through the weeds and bushes, and I hope we don’t find a patch of waspnettle. I have boots on, but Leonora and Marigold only have slippers. They haven’t complained, but they must be in agony by now.
Leonora trips on a root but catches herself before she falls. “Pippa, I need to rest for a moment.”
I nod. As much as I don’t want to stop, we’re all exhausted. There’s another cry, closer this time.
“What is that?” Marigold asks.
“Mountain cat.”
Leonora rolls her shoulders, looking tense. “Are you sure?”
“No.”
“What else could it be?” Marigold asks.
“We need to move on,” I say instead of answering her question.
We continue, and soon I notice my boots sinking into the ground as we walk. We’ve stumbled on a marsh. “We must be very quiet.”
Leonora creeps forward. “Why?”
“We’re in grim boar territory.”
We move along. I know we’re almost silent, but in the night, it sounds like we’re crashing through the brush. I just know we’re going to draw something in.
A dark cliff-like shape grows from the forest in front of us. We’ve left the marsh and are almost to our first terrace. At the base, I’m able to locate the trail I’d hoped for.
I feel more secure until another feline cry, this time much closer, rings through the night.
“I don’t think that’s a mountain cat,” Leonora says, her voice shaking.
It must be a mountain cat. A mountain cat is bad enough—the alternative is too terrifying to consider. We press on, faster now that we’re not tripping through brush and crawling over fallen logs. I’m almost running, but the girls keep up with me.
