Free Snowbone by Cat Weatherill

Figgis felt the cold too. He knew that was impossible—he was wooden. But still he shivered and coughed. By day, he walked with a blanket draped round his shoulders. At night, he slept like a hedgehog, curled up in a tight ball. But his biggest concern was his arm. It wasn't growing back as it should. Every morning he looked for some sign of growth and was disappointed. Figgis said nothing, but everyone could see the worry, whittling at his face like a penknife.
    Snowbone realized it was a problem. Not just for Figgis but for all of them. “I need a sign,” she said to herself. “Something that will tell me what to do.”
    And, two days later, there
was
a sign. It was tall, wooden and standing by the crossroads at Wimberry Tump.
    It was late afternoon. The sun had slipped from the sky. Snow white was fading to shadow gray, and the travelers were looking for somewhere to spend the night. Anywhere dry woulddo. But there was nothing to be seen except an ox cart, coming down the lane toward them.
    “Excuse me, sir,” said Tigermane to its driver as it drew near. “We're looking for somewhere to stay for the night. A barn? An outbuilding?”
    The carter gazed down and Tigermane couldn't help smiling. His great, round face was such a curious caramel color, his head looked like an enormous pickled onion.
    “There's a farm farther on down the road,” said the carter without stopping his wagon. “They'll help you.”
    “Just one more thing!” said Tigermane. “We're trying to find some slavers. A black-haired man? A blue-eyed lad?”
    The carter's lip curled. “They came this way couple of days ago,” he said. “Ten, maybe twelve men—and a woman. She was a nasty creature, for all her fine looks. Very rude. They had a wagon.”
    “Which way did they go?” said Tigermane.
    “On to Wimberry Tump,” he said, waving his arm in the direction he'd come from. “Then left at the crossroads to Puddle.” With a curt nod, the carter clicked his reins and continued on his way.
    “This is fantastic news!” said Snowbone. “Good work, Tigermane.”
    They marched on to Wimberry Tump. Any thought of shelter for the night had gone, squished like the snow beneath their boots. Soon they saw the crossroads with its wooden sign: Puddle, Hayricks, Bogey Bridge, Pennyfold.
    “Left!” cried Snowbone, and, like a flock of birds wheeling in the air, the entire party turned left onto the Puddle road.
    But something made Mouse look behind and there, still standing by the signpost, was Figgis.
    “Wait!” she cried in her loudest voice. She ran back. “Figgis? What's the matter?”
    Figgis looked down into Mouse's concerned little face and smiled. If there was a nicer tiddlin than this one, he'd like to meet it. He pointed at the sign with his remaining hand. “You see that? Bogey Bridge? My aunt lives there.”
    “That's nice,” said Mouse. She didn't know what else to say.
    Luckily, the others returned and Snowbone took over.
    “What's the matter?”
    “It's Figgis's aunt,” said Mouse. “She lives in Bogey Bridge.”
    “So?”
    “I have to go to her,” said Figgis, unconsciously cradling the stump of his arm.
    “You can't,” said Snowbone. “Not now. We're getting close.”
    “I must,” said Figgis. “My arm isn't right.
I'm
not right.”
    Snowbone wavered. “I know. I can see that. But I don't want to lose them. Figgis, we
can't
lose them now.”
    Figgis heard the despair in her voice. And when he looked into her eyes, he saw tears. Sharp, unwanted tears, just for a moment.
    “I'm sorry,” he said.
    “We won't lose the slavers,” said Manu. “If we can find them once, we can find them again. And Figgis isn't the only one who would benefit from a hot meal and a dry bed.”
    It had gone very quiet. Everyone was watching Snowbone, waiting for her decision. She felt pulled. Torn. Split like the crossroads sign. Head going one way, heart going another, feet going nowhere.
    “We'll go to Bogey Bridge,” she said