The Legend Begins Read Free Page B

the truth was that she wanted to go as fast as she could back to the wilderness and never leave it again. Yet what would become of the Old Ones if she did? Sly had vanished, and as they set off again, Little Fur wondered if the road monster had frightened her away. She would not blame Sly if it were so.

    When the road began to curve, the wooden barrier curved, too, and Little Fur could no longer see ahead. So it was a shock when she came abruptly to the end of the grass path. Ahead, the black road now ran alongside the high wooden barrier with only a narrow gray curb to separate them. Before Little Fur could call out to Crow, Ginger stretched out a scarred gray paw to dab at a line of grass pushing up between the gray curb and the black road.
    Little Fur touched one toe to the narrow seam of grass and was surprised to find earth magic flowing along it. Trying not to think about what would happen if the road monster returned, she put her whole foot down over the seam, then gasped. “The road is hot!”
    â€œThe blackness holds the heat of the day.”
    Little Fur looked up to find Sly draped elegantly along the top of the wooden barrier. She rose and leaped lightly down to sniff at the surface of the black road. “Nice and warm to lie on, but dangerous,” she purred, as though the thought of being in danger pleased her.
    Little Fur set off along the grass seam, holding out both arms for balance and hoping it would not be long before there was a better place to walk.

    By the time Little Fur reached another grass path, she was tired out.
How can being careful and anxious be so wearying?
Ginger was padding along tirelessly beside her, but Sly had gone ahead again.
Hunting,
supposed Little Fur.
    All at once, she caught the scent of a tree and cast about until she saw it; small, with sparse foliage, it was growing beside one of the poles that held up glowing balls of false light. Little Fur went to the tree, eager to touch its bark. Like most trees planted since humans had come, it was deeply asleep, but when she leaned her cheek against the trunk its dreaming came to her partly as words, partly as a humming vibration and partly as pictures that flashed into her mind.

    Pity gripped her when she realized that the tree believed it was the only one of its kind. She might have tried to convince it that there were others, but what use would that have been when none were near enough to give it company? Instead, she rummaged in her pouch for a small tree orchid wrapped in leaves. She always carried one of these with her because their pollen was useful for healing inflammations in flesh as well as in bark. “You must be a friend to this tree now,” she whispered to the orchid, pushing it into a leafy elbow of the tree where it would be safe from the bruising wind of the road beasts.
    Crow landed on the lowest branch of the spindly tree. “Mustn’t stopping here,” he chided. “Must keeping on walking.”

    Little Fur smiled up at Crow. “How far is it to the tunnel that goes under the road?”
    â€œMany wingflaps,” Crow said.
    Little Fur sighed. Crow couldn’t count, so to him, millions and hundreds and dozens all meant the same thing: many.

    They continued along the black road until Little Fur’s head rang with its thick, unpleasant smell. She was very relieved when Crow cried out that the tunnel was just ahead. But to her dismay, it turned out to be a pipe going under the road. Fortunately, there was earth at the bottom of it, where weeds and small plants had taken root.
    â€œNo trolls,” Crow said, misunderstanding her hesitation.
    The tunnel did not smell of troll. It did not even smell of humans, although it was clear that humans had made it. “What is it for?” she asked.
    â€œAfter rains, water gushing through here,” Crow said. “I going now. Waiting on other side.”
    â€œWhat about Ginger?” Little Fur worried. Sly had not long