Free The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver

simply walk into.”
    â€œDon’t leave me,” Hylas tried to say, but he couldn’t move his lips.
    When he woke, the fire had burned low. He stumbled out into the cold gray half-light. Windblown snow hissed sadly about his boots. He could see no footprints. All trace of Akastos was gone.

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    T he lion cub slitted her eyes against the wind and watched the boy stumble back into his lair.
    Sadly, she turned and headed up the ridge. He would be all right now. She had saved him by leading him to the black-maned human, who had looked after him, as he’d done in the past. But now she had to leave. It was too dangerous and confusing to stay.
    The storm was over, and the forest creatures were coming out of hiding. Redwings chattered in the branches, scattering the cub with Bright Soft Cold. Swiveling her ears, she caught the caws of ravens, and quickened her pace. Ravens only cawed like that when they’d found a carcass.
    They scattered when they saw her, but the cub took one sniff at the carcass and drew back, twitching her tail in disgust. It was human, and crawling with the foul black specks that she knew to avoid.
    The Dark swallowed the forest, and the lion cub prowled the mountain in search of food. She found no live prey and no more carcasses, not even bones.
    At last she caught the crackle of fire and the voices of men. She was about to flee, when she smelled meat.
    Bristling with fear, she padded closer and snuffed the wind. Yes. The muzzle-watering scent of deer blood.
    Terror and hunger fought within her. Hunger won. Placing each paw with care, she belly-crawled between the pines.
    Another gust of wind carried the humans’ scent to her nose. She froze. There between the trees were the terrible men with the flapping black hides who had slaughtered her pride.
    Suddenly she was a little cub again, listening to her father’s furious roars as the terrible men closed in for the kill. She saw her mother’s great golden lifeless eyes . . .
    The rich smell of blood tugged her back. These men had meat. And sometimes, humans left scraps.

    â€œI saw something,” said Telamon. “Over there among the trees.”
    â€œOnly a deer,” growled Kreon.
    â€œNo,” said Telamon. “It was bigger than that.”
    â€œThey say there’s a monster on Mount Dikti,” muttered Ilarkos, Kreon’s second-in-command. “The prisoner told me it was sent by the ghost of the High Priestess to protect her daughter.”
    Telamon gave him a cold stare. “Nothing can protect her from us. Let’s go back to camp; the men have put up the tents and I want to question the prisoner again.”
    To his irritation, Ilarkos didn’t obey at once, but sought confirmation from Kreon, who drew his wolf-fur cloak about him and gave a curt nod.
    How dare he, thought Telamon as they crunched through the snow to where the men were burning wormwood to ward off the Plague. It was my idea to come to Keftiu, I made it happen. And I’m going to find the dagger. Not Kreon.
    It made him seethe that the men still viewed him as a boy, who’d not yet killed enough boar to make his own boars’-tusk helmet, and who—to his shame—hadn’t yet grown a beard.
    All I need, Telamon told himself, is one chance to prove that I’m a man. Then they’ll know I’m the one they should obey.
    The prisoner stood outside their tent, shivering. Telamon swept past him and ducked inside. Kreon was already seated on a log, warming his hands at the brazier. As Telamon drew up another log, the slave brought a large bronze bowl of roast venison, dried anchovies, and figs, and they fell on it, washing it down with steaming beakers of honeyed wine.
    At last Kreon wiped his fingers on his furs and nodded to Ilarkos, who brought in the prisoner.
    The wretch fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the earth. He was bruised, bloodied, and shaking with fear. Telamon had