Free Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast by Jane Yolen Page A

drawn bow.
    There was a long pause as girl and beast stared at each other. Then the creature shook its shaggy head and backed away. Turning, it pounced on the gutted deer, and with a mighty sweep of its golden wings rose into the air with the carcass in its claws, and was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VICTIMS OF THE BEAST
    A TALANTA’S FATHER HAD ALWAYS said: “Trust what you see, hear and smell, just the way the beasts of the wild do. Don’t let your mind conjure fancies out of your fears.”
    But now her mind told her such a thing as the winged lion could not exist. Yet her senses—what she’d seen, heard, and smelled—told her the creature was real. For a moment she was stunned into immobility, as if she’d been encased in a block of ice.
    Sensing her confusion, Urso leaned comfortingly against her, almost pushing her over. It was only then that Atalanta found she could move again.
    Evenor burst back out of the greenery, bow and arrow at the ready, and saw how shaken she looked.
    “Atalanta, are you all right?”
    “I saw it,” Atalanta said, scarcely breathing. She pointed at the empty space by the fire. “I saw the creature. It took the stag, picked the carcass up as if the thing weighed no more than a piece of straw.”
    “What kind of beast was it?” Evenor asked, casting about for some sign of the creature’s trail.
    “It was bigger than a bull,” she said slowly, “like a mountain cat but enormous. With claws, a mane, a scaly serpent’s tail…wings.” Her voice died away. She knew the description sounded absurd.
    “Where did it go?” Evenor asked with an uneasy frown.
    “It flew off,” said Atalanta. “That way.” She gestured to a spot above the trees.
    At that moment Phreneus and Demas appeared, supporting Goryx between them.
    Goryx was bruised and scratched and blood trailed from a wide row of tooth marks on his left leg. His eyes were glazed with shock and his lips twitched as though he were muttering wordlessly to himself. But—miraculously—he was alive.
    The two hunters laid their stricken companion down by the campfire and did their best to dress his wounds, pouring water and wine into the bloody punctures.
    “Did anyone see the thing that did this?” Phreneus asked. “I can’t believe the size of that bite.”
    “I saw it,” said Atalanta. She repeated the description she’d given Evenor.
    Demas shook his head. “Girl’s lost her wits,” he grumbled. “Must have been a mountain cat gave her a scare.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with my wits,” Atalanta told him hotly. “I’ve seen mountain cats before. And killed them. This was no cat. Ask Goryx. He must have seen it.”
    “I don’t think he saw anything,” said Phreneus, looking down at the wounded man. “I think his own fright is all he remembers.”
    Goryx was twitching fitfully where he lay, which was making it difficult for Demas to wind a bandage around his injured leg.
    “For all we know, that beast’s on its way to the village,” Evenor said grimly. “We have to get back and warn everyone.”
    “In the dark?” Demas objected.
    “We have to go. For the village’s sake. And to get a healer for Goryx,” Phreneus pointed out.
    At the sound of his name, Goryx groaned.
    “We can make torches to light our way,” said Atalanta. “Wild creatures are afraid of fire.”
    Evenor agreed. “Atalanta, you know this forest better than I know the faces of my children. You can guide us back, can’t you—even in the dark?”
    Atalanta nodded.
    “Right then, let’s get Goryx up,” Evenor said decisively.
    They helped him to his feet and handed him his spear. Then Evenor leaned close to Goryx and addressed him urgently. “Can you walk, man?” When there was no reaction he repeated the question. “Goryx, can you walk?”
    For a minute, Goryx’s clouded eyes cleared. Then he nodded. Gingerly he tested his wounded leg and then, leaning heavily on his spear, he hobbled forward a few paces. “Yes, I can walk. I