The Griffin's Flight by K.J. Taylor Read Free Book Online Page B

dirty, but he pocketed them anyway. This done, he started to hunt through the grass and turn over rocks, looking for lizards. The odds of finding another as big as the one he had caught that morning were very poor, but he tried anyway. Patient searching eventually turned up a skink about as large as his hand. He knew Skandar wouldn’t be happy, but it would just have to do.
    When he returned to the clearing he found Skade still asleep. She had rolled onto her side and was curled up, one hand resting under her chin. Arren pulled the robe over her and set to work building a fire. He’d done it a hundred times before, and by now it was almost a reflex action. He cleared a patch of earth and laid out a circle of rocks, then heaped dry grass and twigs inside it. Larger sticks went on top, and he found a chunk of a fallen log and laid that in the centre. Then, sitting cross-legged beside it, he took a piece of flint from his pocket and struck it against the blade of his knife, directing the sparks onto the dry grass. It caught, and he dropped the flint and blew on the grass as gently as he could, until it began to smoke. The smoke increased, and then true flames appeared and the grass began to burn. Arren sheathed his knife and added more grass and twigs until the whole thing was well ablaze, constantly glancing over his shoulder to check on Skade. She hadn’t moved, but he could see her breathing. She would be fine.
    His stomach was churning with hunger, so he spitted some grubs on a stick and cooked them over the fire. They didn’t actually taste bad, but the texture still made him pull a face. He put a few aside for Skade, along with some roots and half of the berries he’d gathered, and ate the rest. It would probably be more sensible to save some of it for later, but he was too hungry to care.
    Once he’d eaten, he added more fuel to the fire and went to check on Skade. His curiosity was so powerful that he couldn’t help it. He wanted to know about her. Who she was, where she had come from, why she was out here. And how she knew griffish. Could she be a griffiner? But surely if she was, then her griffin would be with her. She looked thin and exhausted and ragged, like himself. Was she a fugitive?
    And if so, what was she running from?
    He sat close, watching her and debating whether to wake her up and ask, but before he could make a decision he glanced up and saw Skandar flying overhead.
    The black griffin landed not far from the fire and dropped a bloody bundle in front of Arren. “Food,” he said, almost sternly.
    It was a dead sheep, whole and virtually undamaged. Arren examined it, utterly astonished. “Skandar, where in the gods’ names did you get this from?”
    Skandar sat back and made a rather unpleasant choking sound, almost a burp. “Many food,” he said. “Field, fence. I eat many. This one yours.”
    Arren went cold. “Did anyone see you? Were there any humans there?”
    “No. I look first.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Skandar rolled onto his side. His stomach was bulging. “I look first,” he said again. “Then eat. You eat now.”
    Arren didn’t need telling twice. He dragged the sheep a short way into the brush and began to butcher it, clumsy in his eagerness. The sheep was fat and healthy, and its wool was thick. It must have come from a rich pasture. In spite of his hunger, Arren skinned it before he began stripping the meat from the carcass. The hide could be extremely useful. Once he’d scraped it clean and laid it out flat to dry, he cut several large pieces of meat from the sheep’s hind legs and spitted them over the fire before he began on the rest, not noticing the mess or the blood coating both his arms.
    Skandar watched him with a lazy, indulgent air, having eaten so much he could barely move. “Good food,” he muttered.
    “Oh yes,” said Arren. He could already smell the meat beginning to cook. “This is wonderful, Skandar. Perfect. I’m so hungry I was starting to wonder if