Free Soul of a Crow by Abbie Williams Page A

this certain disobeying of Boyd’s orders. I opened my mouth to respond when a woman screamed, a high-pitched, blood-curdling yowl that set every hair on the back of my neck rigid. I choked on a gasp, scrambling to the entrance, fingers shaking almost too much to free myself from the tent.
    Malcolm cried shrilly, “What is it?”
    In the same instant, perhaps two dozen paces distant, Sawyer shouted, “Just there!”
    Boyd yelped and there was the shock of gunfire at close range, three shots in rapid sequence; Boyd roared, “They’s headed for the river!”
    I fumbled to my feet and raced around the side of the tent, frantic to know what was happening. A supple blur of movement from the direction of the horses caught me unaware; something formidably large bounded so close to me as I stood there, unsheltered, that I nearly toppled over. Before I could make sense of what I had just seen, Sawyer bellowed, “ Lorie! ”
    A second creature leaped through our camp on the heels of the first, lithe and enormous, a courier of death as surely as a bullet to the heart. The wailing screech again shattered the night; my blood went to ice—and then Sawyer was there, ascertaining that I was safe before charging after what I belatedly realized was a pair of catamounts. Though utterly unharmed, I sank quite involuntarily to the cold ground. Near the riverbank, Sawyer fired twice after the fleeing animals, just as Boyd ran from around the far side of the tents. Catching sight of Sawyer loping back to us, Boyd stopped short, tipping forward to catch his breath; both of them were almost visibly sparking with energy.
    For the fourth or fifth time, Boyd sputtered, “ Jesus H. Christ .”
    Malcolm fell to his knees beside me and I caught him in my arms; the boy’s heart fired rapidly. Sawyer paced around us, putting his free hand on my hair, my shoulder, reassuring himself that I was indeed all right; he was, however, unable to cease moving, far too riled up.
    â€œAre the horses safe?” I asked, terrified anew.
    Boyd, having regained a sliver of composure, responded, “They’s fine, though they was close to being dinner for them big cats. Shee-it . My heart just about quit beatin’ when the one screamed. I never seen such big critters.”
    Sawyer finally came to a standstill, drawing a fortifying breath and staring in the direction of the river. He said, somewhat hoarsely, “Me, neither.”
    Boyd focused on his little brother, and his tone promptly changed into that of a disciplinarian, stern with warning as he said, “Boy, I oughta strap your hide within an inch of your life. Did I or did I not tell you to stay in that goddamn tent?”
    Malcolm did not so much as attempt to offer an excuse, though his slender arms tightened their grip on my waist; I almost smiled at this gesture, which surely indicated that the boy would have to be pried forcibly from me in order to receive a whipping. Malcolm said meekly, “You did.”
    â€œYou’s goddamn lucky I have to piss just now,” Boyd carried on, irascibly. “When I get back, you best be outta my sight.”
    â€œYou mind watching your mouth in front of Lorie?” Sawyer asked sharply.
    Boyd huffed a surprised laugh, and we were all laughing then, the tension of the past quarter-hour taking abrupt wing. Boyd said, “I apologize, Lorie-girl, I truly do. I had me a shock to the system, you see. An’ I do have to piss, something fierce.”
    â€œThen get ,” Sawyer ordered. He was laughing nearly too hard to say, “But watch out… for panthers …”
    â€œJesus Christ ,” Boyd uttered again, clutched in hilarity. He declared, “Davis, you’s gonna accompany me…an’ then you’s gonna watch my back while I water them cottonwoods…”
    By the time we retired to our tent, dawn was perhaps an hour away, at most. The night had lost its clutch