Vig’s brows drew together, and he cast a nervous look over his shoulder. “The smell? Perhaps it repels them?”
“It could mark a creature’s territory,” Rey mused. But something caught his attention before he could elaborate. He took off at a quick pace, striding to the highest edge of the fenceline.
“Will you tell me what you’re thinking, Galtung, or must I learn to read your various scowls?”
But Rey did not answer. His sole focus was on the top corner of the meadow. Heather bushes and shorter wild grasses were interspersed amid the pine trees, all except for this one place. As Rey neared, his heart quickened. The plants here were flattened, forming a large, circular shape that was at least six paces across.
Rey’s arm shot out, stopping Vig from stepping into the depression. “What?” bristled Vig.
“Something bedded down here,” said Rey, crouching. “Long enough to flatten the grass for several weeks afterward.” Plucking a piece of grass, he brought it to his nose.
Vig picked a blade of grass, sniffed it and gagged. “Malla’s tits, Galtung,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your guts must be forged from steel. ”
“It’s almost as though it needed to rest after gorging on a large feast,” said Rey absently. “Or perhaps it was too large to escape the pasture.”
“It?” asked Vig, surveying the woods nervously. “As in, acreature?”
“Perhaps a winged beast too heavy to fly or something that could not leap the fence,” Rey said.
“You don’t—” Vig cleared his throat. “You don’t suppose it could still be here, do you?”
Rey’s stomach tightened as he glanced over his shoulder. “They say some creatures like to return to the scene and relive the glory of their kill.”
Vig blinked.
Pushing to his feet, Rey stared into the forest beyond the fence. His fingers slid along the hilt of his longsword, but his gaze snagged on something nearby. “There,” he said, striding around the circular impression. “This. What is this?”
“It appears to be a rock, Galtung,” said Vig dryly.
At first look, one could easily mistake it for a boulder. But Rey knew better. “That, Vig, is shite.”
“What is it, then?” asked Vig, obtusely.
“Shite,” Rey repeated, toeing it with his boot. “Dung. Feces. Meadow bread. Call it what you want. The beast lay there”—he pointed at the circular patch—“then produced that”—he pointed at the excrement—“and only then was it able to leave.”
Vig’s brown eyes narrowed. “It’s too small. And where are the sheep bones?”
“You’d be amazed at the digestive abilities of some creatures, Vig,” said Rey. “They can use many parts of the animal that we humans cannot. Surely you can use your imagination.”
“Bones,” repeated Vig, swallowing hard. “You mean to tell me there are creatures which can digestbones?” His skin leached of color at Rey’s nod. “Hábrók’s bollocks. What—how?—”
“The answers,” said Rey, “will be in the excrement.” The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, and Rey glanced again into the forest beyond the pasture. “I do not like the feel of this place, Vig. Let us carry it down and examine it in the shield-home’s yard.”
Vig spluttered. “The shite? You want to carry the shite?—”
“There will be clues buried in it,” said Rey, righting himself. He sent Vig a stern look. “Answers to what befell your sheep. And, perhaps, Váli.”
At the mention of the missing boy, Vig quickly mastered his emotions. “Very well. Let us get on with it.”
Rey’d thankfully hadthe foresight to drag a sledge up the mountainside. While he’d hoped to have bones or a carcass to examine, it appeared they had dung instead.
“I’ll have to burn these clothes,” grumbled Vig as they loaded the feces onto the sledge. “And scrub myself with ash and lye.”
Rey was well used to dealing with unfortunate smells, and as he glanced over his shoulder once more, he was glad to put distance between himself and this pasture.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Vig as they made their way toward their horses, the sledge sliding across the grass behind them.
“A rare?—”
