The Eye of the Falcon by Michelle Paver Read Free Book Online Page B

print bigger than his head.
    Quietly, he rose to his feet. Near a clump of boulders a few paces off, he saw a vast mound of steaming droppings.
    At that moment, he heard a snort, and from behind the boulders stepped an enormous cow and her giant calf.
    His belly turned over. The cow had the vicious forward-pointing horns of wild cattle. He’d encountered them in the mountains where he’d grown up. They were twice as big as tame cattle, and twice as mean. And this one had seen him.
    â€œIt’s all right,” he told the cow quietly. “I’m not going to bother you or your calf.”
    The cow lifted her huge blunt muzzle and tasted his scent.
    â€œI’m going to move slowly away from you,” said Hylas, doing just that. “I—I can’t climb out of the gully on this side, it’s too steep, so I’m going to cross the stream and climb out over there, see? Where it’s not so steep? I’m not coming anywhere near you.”
    The cow decided he was no threat, and put down her head to drink.
    Hylas was halfway across the stream when he heard a rustling directly ahead, and from the willows stepped the biggest bull he’d ever seen.
    Its horns were over an arm span wide and its hide was matted with foul-smelling ash; it had been rolling in its own urine. Bulls do that when their blood is up, and they’re spoiling for a fight.
    In horror, Hylas took in its flaring nostrils and hot red-rimmed eyes. This was what the Keftian had been trying to tell him, pawing the earth with his foot and pointing his arms: Like horns. Rauko, rauko. Bull.
    All this flashed through his mind in a heartbeat. He couldn’t climb out of the gully, the bull was blocking his way, and—which was much, much worse— he was in its way.
    Without meaning to, he’d put himself between the bull and its mate.

9
    T he bull didn’t paw the earth as the Keftian had done. It just charged.
    Dropping his waterskin, Hylas raced for the hut with the bull thundering after him. He made for the cistern, hoping to leap from there to the roof. It was too far, he’d never do it. He grabbed a pitchfork lying on the ground, took a run at the hut, jammed the butt of the pitchfork in the earth, and tried to vault onto the roof.
    He didn’t quite make it and clung to the edge, scrabbling with his feet. Moments before the bull struck, he hauled himself up. One horn missed his boot by a hand’s breadth and gouged a furrow in the wall.
    Thatch came out in handfuls as Hylas crawled farther up the roof. He saw the bull swing around for another attempt. Surely it wouldn’t attack a house ?
    The great beast’s head slammed into the wall, scattering chunks of mud-brick and sending a shudder through the roof.
    Shaken and out of breath, Hylas watched it trot off for another attack. He still had his axe, knife, slingshot, and the pig’s leg slung across his back. None of these would be much good against an angry bull.
    The hut on which he perched was close to the steep side of the gully, which was sheer rock, impossible to climb. He had to reach the other side across the stream—but to do that, he had to get past the bull.
    Another crash shook the hut, and the bull bellowed, furious that it couldn’t reach its foe.
    Hylas crawled higher. If he could distract the beast, he might have time to make it across the stream.
    Below him, on the side of the hut the bull couldn’t see, he spotted an abandoned cart. Its two shafts pointed downward, like the horns of a grazing beast. That gave him an idea.
    While the bull cantered away for another charge, Hylas slid off the roof and swiftly tied one of his red wristbands to the cart-shaft, then propped both shafts on a log, so that they pointed forward, like a bull leveling its head to attack.
    The earth shook with the thunder of hooves, and Hylas jumped from cart to roof. Yanking out a handful of thatch, he leaned down and waved it at the bull.