“Thank you,” said Snow Fawn, not looking at her sister.
After Rose Blossom made her way across the hillside and disappeared into the trees, Snow Fawn sat at the cave’s entrance and chewed on the meat. She wanted to save some for morning, but couldn’t risk drawing the attention of any nearby animals. Building a fire would keep the animals away, but likely draw attention of her estranged family.
When she had finished her meager dinner, Snow Fawn carried her son over to the narrow river through the woods so she could wash his wrap and relieve herself before sleep. He squirmed and wouldn’t return to sleep after she swaddled him. She adjusted his little body, tucking his arm under hers so he could nurse while she moved.
Walking back to her small cave, she heard the return of footsteps and waited for her sister to appear from the forest.
“Did you forget something?” she asked the footsteps.
Snow Fawn’s breath caught in her throat, refusing to return to her lungs. The shadow stepping from the dense trees didn’t resemble her sister at all. The form stood impossibly tall, taller than any person Snow Fawn had ever seen. The hulking form rose from stocky legs that bulged at the calf and thigh. The creature’s torso cut a triangular hole in the canopy of stars it blocked. She sensed danger from only the tilt of the thing’s head, and she imagined the eyes staring at her. Her boy stopped suckling abruptly, picking up the fear in his mother’s body.
The creature crouched and Snow Fawn found her breath. Although it stood many paces away, she turned her foot back towards the relative safety of the woods, and waited for it to pounce or leave her alone.
It pounced.
She turned as soon as she saw the creature spring, but heard it closing the distance before she even had her feet in motion. Snow Fawn knew instinctively that this was no mere human, and her only course of action leapt to the front of her mind: she must make it to the shallow river. Since childhood, she had been taught that demons and spirits couldn’t cross running water. Until this moment, that knowledge had been completely useless.
Quick thinking took her to the left—downhill and into the thick scrub—as if she was being chased by a bear. The same rationale must apply; something so big would have trouble with the low branches and downhill slope. Even with the advantage, Snow Fawn knew the creature gained ground with every stride. Its chuffing, spitting snarls closed the distance and would overtake her.
Darting to the right, away from the river, Snow Fawn extended her lead by weaving into a copse of alder. The frustrated creature growled as it snapped pliable limbs and squeezed between trunks. Snow Fawn broke from the stand of young trees and could see the small river just beyond several paces of moonlit ferns. She panted as she sprinted to the edge.
The creature emerged from the dense trees nearly horizontal, extending its thick arms and long claws towards Snow Fawn. She heard its voice creating a low purr, and understood that its grip would soon close on her shoulder. Hugging her boy tight, she leaned forward and propelled herself towards the banks of the small river, leaving her feet just as she heard the creature crashing to the ground behind her. For a moment, she made no noise. Her breath and heart stopped as she dropped towards the shallow stream and her boy, pressed against her flesh, kept perfectly quiet.
She threw her leg forward as she fell towards the bubbling water and aimed her foot at a large flat rock. She hoped to spring off this submerged rock and vault most of the way across the river. Leaning back, Snow Fawn attempted to center her weight appropriately, making her best guess at how to execute this athletic move with an infant strapped to her chest.
Her foot slapped the water and plunged to the slippery rock. Her leg was bent to absorb the shock of the descent, but instead buckled as her weight compressed the tired muscle. Snow Fawn’s foot slipped forward off the rock and sent her sprawling to her back in the rushing water. Her left leg flew forward untethered, but the right one, the one that had slipped off the rock, caught between the flat rock and its neighbor, causing her leg to bend back unnaturally.
She screamed with pain and anger. Pushing her arms back, trusting her boy to the sling which held him to her chest, she tried to stand in the current. Her left leg slipped and she nearly spilled again when her right leg refused to take any weight. She hopped to the opposite bank and clawed her way to the shore.
Snow Fawn turned to assess her pursuer. She sobbed with relief to see the creature gingerly picking its way into the shallows before it balked and returned to the opposite shore. Suddenly this giant attacker looked more like a little boy than an evil spirit, and she watched it as she pushed away from the shore and attempted to regain her feet. Her boy, sensing the partial ease in his mother’s fear, coughed a brief cry.
Across the stream the creature pointed to her—“Boy,” he said and then paused, “must die.”
Snow Fawn’s jaw dropped and she froze, shocked to be addressed by a spirit. When she found her composure, she was surprised that her first emotion was righteous anger—“He has a tooth,” she spat. “He deserves to live.” All the families shared the same rule—if an infant survived until it had its first tooth, it should be allowed to live. She squared her shoulders to the creature and stood as straight as she could on her injured leg.
“No,” said the giant.
Her thwarted pursuer turned his shoulders away, as if he would retreat, but his hips stayed pointed across the river at Snow Fawn.
“You can’t follow me,” she said, realizing that this was a hope more than solid fact. Snow Fawn backed a single pace and reached out to grab a sapling to help her pull her injured leg along.
On the other side of the river, the creature’s upper half snapped back around to face her. The only thing missing from his moonlit body was his trailing arm—that came around last, in a wide arc. She never saw the rock as it hurtled towards her chest, but she heard it. Her arms came up to protect her baby boy, but they were an instant too slow. The impact of the big smooth rock knocked her back. To keep her balance, Snow Fawn braced her legs, but the injured knee failed and she collapsed to her back with her right leg sticking up, knee bent at an odd angle.
She screamed.
Her hands found a wet mess where her baby’s head should be. She screamed high and loud until her voice ran thin and then gave out entirely. She tried to cup her son’s tiny crushed head to her dripping breast. Eventually, Snow Fawn rolled to her side and wept as she clutched her dead son to her chest.
The Hunting Tree had claimed his first victim.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Davey
“WHAT’D YOU GET FOR number seven?” asked Paul.
“Twenty-four,” said Davey.
“Wait a second,” said Paul with his shoulders hunched as he glanced around the library, “you put down twenty-one.”
“Yeah, but the answer is twenty-four,” said Davey.
“Start making sense, jag-off,” demanded Paul.
“Just because I know the answer doesn’t mean I have to put it down,” said Davey, focused on creating the perfect curve of a shoulder. His thin paper was scarred by dozens of erasures.
“I don’t get you,” said Paul. “How come you know the answers but you never pay attention? And how come you don’t just put down the right answers?”
Davey stopped drawing and looked up at Paul with puffy, sleepless eyes. “You remember when I got straight A’s last year?”
“Yeah.”
“You remember how my mom started talking about me going to that other school, and how she got all those papers for those stupid summer classes?” asked Davey.