Of course, Boots ignored my request and swished his head to the side, my dress in his mouth.
“Give it here.” Scratching behind his ear, I distracted him long enough to yank my outfit away from him.
He brayed, and I leaned over to smooch his big head. Out of all the gifts my grandfather had bestowed on me, Boots was my biggest treasure.
After slipping into the dress, I tied the laces in the front, and tugged on my old worn boots. “I wonder why Crispin didn’t meet us at the river?”
My thoughts trailed as I remembered he was supposed to meet me here after he hid all my birthday presents.
What was taking him so long?
Even though we had never seen another human, fae, or even a dwarf in these parts, Crispin didn’t like me venturing out alone. Our first night in the cottage here, he got down on one knee and vowed to be mine forever and to never leave my side, literally.
I pattedmy donkey’s side, ushering him away from the river. “Let’s go back home.”
A shrill cry cracked through the quiet afternoon.
Everything in me went rigid.
Another cry until all my guinea hens were raising an alarm.
Oh, no.
Boots nudged me with his head, hee-hawing.
“It's okay,” I said, giving his neck and side a quick pat. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The hens screamed louder than I’d ever heard them, forcing me to run. It could be a beast or a bear coming out of hibernation. Spring had just arrived, and we were right near the mountain, so it wasn't uncommon.
Or maybe it was some other monster.
It could be a darkthing.
I shuddered. Those shadow monsters continued to haunt our lands even though the magi had closed the Rift to the Shadow Realm over a hundred years ago. Clearly some of them had been left trapped in, instead of locked out. Closing the Rift to the Never should have stopped the encroaching darkness, yet those creatures still hadn’t disappeared.
I shouldn’t let my mind go there. There could bemanylogical explanations for my guinea hens being in such an upheaval.
Branches scraped against my skin, and I pushed out my hands to both sides, calling my magic forth and forcing all the nearby foliage to bend away from me, giving me a straight path back to the cottage.
For once, I was grateful to have my boots on, helping me move quicker. I never wore them, preferring skin to grass, but Crispin insisted I wear them when going to the river because of all the slippery mossy stones.
Faster I ran, Boots keeping pace.
The woods thinned out as I reached the valley with our little cottage puffing a plume of smoke through the stone chimney.
A few of the hens ran near the woods and two more by the rhododendron in front of our cottage.
Nothing else seemed out of place. No trampled flowers by the garden. No scary animal crawling around spooking the alpacas or our one llama.
But where was the woodpecker that tortured us with its pecking every day at noon or the group of blue jays that loved the old oak by the beehive?
Gone were the usual, familiar sounds that made this place home.
Holding out my hand, I ordered the nearby maple to release one of her older branches. The small limb cracked and fell. I picked it up, holding it just in case I needed to whack another wild boar in the head.
I'd spent many nights training with Crispin, honing my magic until a simple thought could turn a twig into a sharpened dagger. Grueling and tedious, but necessary.
Boots trampled forward, making his way toward the pen.
