Free Moonkind (Winterling) by Sarah Prineas Page B

brothers lived in had been struck by lightning and burned; the pucks had dug out the burned place in the base of the trunk to make a cavelike shelter with a wide opening looking out over the forest. When Rook arrived, the tree was buzzing with activity. As he padded up and shifted into his person shape, his brothers saw him. “Rook!” they shouted, and, “Brother!”
    Rook grinned. It was good to be home.
    Asher strode up and gave him a quick hug. “Pup!” he said, beaming. “You’ve come at just the right time.” He grabbed Rook’s arm and pulled him deeper into the hollowed-out tree. “How did the shadow-web work?” he asked.
    Rook started to answer, but Asher shook his head. “Wait a moment; tell everybody.” He dragged Rook to the charred back wall of the shelter, where Rip and Tatter and a few other pucks sat in a circle. They were tying thick ropes into what looked like a net. The toddler-puck, Scrap, sat on Tatter’s lap; seeing Rook, Scrap grinned, showing off his new teeth. Rook grinned back at him.
    “We’re almost done with this, Ash,” Rip said. “Hello, Pup.”
    Rook nodded a greeting. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
    “Oh, Pup,” Asher said, grinning. “Just wait until you hear the next part of the plan.” He pulled Rook down beside him. “But first tell us about that.” He pointed at Rook’s left hand, at the bit of shadow-web still stuck to his palm.
    He told them what had happened, how the Birch-Lady had shriveled up and howled in pain when the glamorie had come off her.
    “Huh,” Asher said. “But her glamorie was destroyed?”
    “It was, yes,” Rook answered. Then he realized that Rip was staring fixedly at him.
    “You haven’t mentioned that Lady Gwynnefar yet,” Rip said.
    That’s because he hadn’t wanted to mention her. “We’re not . . .” He had to stop and clear the lump out of his throat. “We’re not friends anymore, Fer and me.”
    “Good,” Rip said, with a fierce smile. “No more thread binding you, then?”
    Rook shook his head. He rubbed the place on his chest where the shards of the shattered heart-thread still poked at him.
    “Ah, but he’s broken up about it,” Tatter said. “It’s clear enough that he is.”
    “Just leave it,” Rook muttered.
    They left it.
    Evening fell, and the pucks went out and built up the bonfire before the tree-cave and roasted delicious things over the flames. Rook ate his fill and then, exhausted, found a warm corner of the cave to sleep in.
     
    In the morning, he opened his eyes to see Asher leaning against the cave wall; beside Asher stood a grinning Tatter, holding the baby Scrap.
    Tatter said something. “No, he hasn’t noticed it yet,” Ash answered. “Pup,” he said, and nudged Rook’s shoulder with his toe, “come and have some tea once you’re awake.”
    “Come have some breakfast, too, Pup,” Tatter said, then went away with Ash.
    Rook’s bed against the wall of the tree-cave was too comfortable. He didn’t want to get up. He looked at the dark curve of the cave overhead; gray light flooded in from the wide doorway. He heard a buzzing noise. Then a tickling on his chest, right over his heart. He looked down at himself and saw a bedraggled bee clinging to his fine coat, buzzing softly.
    A bee?
    Fer’s bee.
    He sat up with a jerk and the bee tumbled off, then gave an annoyed buzz and flew up to perch on his collar. “What are you doing here?” Rook whispered.
    Hmmmzmmrm, the bee answered.
    Oh, his brothers were not going to like this. Rook got to his feet and went out to the campfire in front of the cave. His brother Ash was sitting beside it, munching on a strip of dried rabbit. The other pucks lounged around on blankets, some of them sleeping in their dog shapes.
    Tatter handed him a cup of hot tea. “Here, Pup,” he said. “Drink this.”
    Rook took the cup and wrapped his fingers around it, warming them. The bee buzzed at his ear. Hurryhurry, he thought it meant.
    “I know,”