Free Beauty and the Beast by Wendy Mass Page B

seen him since. Do you suspect danger has befallen him? A bear in the woods, perhaps?”
    I freeze at this. There are bears in the woods?
    â€œPerhaps more sinister than a bear,” the man replies.
    The shorter man clears his throat and tilts his head in my direction. The others turn, finally noticing me. The shorter man says, “Let us continue this conversation outside.”
    As the front door whooshes closed behind them, I feel a shiver run down my back. Something about a man at the mill with a silver cloak sounds familiar. Someone else was looking for him? It is too hazy, like trying to remember a dream.
    By the time Clarissa returns from her wanderings, I have already forgotten it.

“Hello, travelers,” the girl says, her voice soft as a moth’s wing, as sweet as honey cakes. I blink a few times to be sure I am not imagining her. I cannot tell her age, perhaps sixteen or so. Her dress is a deeper green than the grass, her smile warm and friendly. “Have you lost your way?” The buffalo stamps a front paw and huffs, his eyes wild. Careful to avoid his large horns, she pats him until he quiets.
    We all shake our heads in response to her kind question. Mother turns her horse around and says, “Come, we must return to the road.” But the rest of us do not move. Exasperated, she turns back to the girl. “We are not in the habit of talking to strangers in the woods. We will be on our way.”
    Again, she turns to go. The girl’s long, yellow hair lifts and falls, scattering rainbows of color. I do not seem able to look away.
    â€œAre you lost, young lady?” Father asks. “Can we assist you in any way?”
    â€œSilas!” Mother says. “You’ve heard the warnings. We are not to talk to strangers in the woods!”
    â€œBut she is not a stranger, Mother,” Alexander says, hopping off his horse. “She is —”
    â€œA friend,” the girl says, stroking the back of the buffalo. “A good friend.”
    â€œSee, Mother?” Alexander says. “She is our friend. Our best friend.”
    Mother glares at him. He either does not notice, or pretends not to. “Good day to you, miss. I am Prince Alexander.” He bows so low his hair grazes the ground. “We are heading to the Harvest Ball.”
    She tilts her head at him and smiles. “Welcome to my stream, Prince Alexander. It gets very lonely out here in the woods. Would you like to dance with me? To practice for the ball?”
    He strides toward her, his hand outstretched.
    â€œAlexander!” Mother scolds. “I told you not —”
    The girl gracefully turns toward Mother, and her eyes flash. Mother swallows whatever she had been about to say. I have never seen that happen before. “With permission, Your Royal Highness, might I dance with your son?”
    Mother pulls a little too tight on the reins, and her horse whines in complaint. Her head moves in a close approximation of a nod, however.
    The girl steps toward Alexander, and they clasp hands. They begin to dance around the clearing. The girl’s eyes never leave his. When they have twirled around the clearing twice, the girl brings the dance to an end right in front of me. I am still atop my horse, who has shown no interest in drinking from the stream after all. “What of your brother?” she asks Alexander. “Does he dance as well as you?”
    Alexander laughs. “Not quite.”
    â€œâ€™Tis true,” I say, once I can find my voice. I have never given girls more than a passing thought before, but truly, she is astonishing to look at. Her rosy cheeks, her white, perfect teeth. I quickly scramble off my horse, not wanting to appear rude.
    â€œPrince Riley may not dance well, nor will he win a beauty contest, but he has other excellent qualities,” Alexander says.
    â€œThank you,” I reply. “I think.”
    â€œNo doubt he does,” the girl says,