Page 85 of Thornlight

The man scooted closer and held the woman tight. “You are a child?” he asked. His voice was gentle and warm, like what Cub remembered of sunlight.

“No mothers,” Cub rumbled, and then he felt so lonely that he could not hold his head up any longer. He lowered his snout onto the rock where the humans sat.

They were afraid. Cub could smell that.

But they came to him anyway and put their tiny hands on his snout. They petted him like his mothers used to do with their paws when it was time to sleep, and that felt so sweet and strange to Cub that he whimpered in the dark and closed his eyes. His tears ran down the Break like waterfalls.

“Tell us what happened to you,” whispered the woman. She sat beside his nose and plucked old brambly burrs from his coat. “Would you, please? We would like to understand.”

And with those words, something in Cub’s heart opened up, asoft, secret place he had kept guarded for so many years he’d forgotten it was there. He couldn’t hear the else-hand. He could only hear the Old Wild, whispering its stories from deep in his blood.

“Listen,” Cub said, letting the power of the Old Wild rise up inside him, right into the humans’ tiny hands. He was a beast, after all. Older than the stars.

And as he breathed in and out of his huge mossy lungs, the Old Wild told the humans a story.

Afterward, Cub blinked in the darkness, listening to the humans breathe.

The man was crying.

The woman hugged Cub’s snout with her skinny little arms. “You poor thing. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Cub. It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Fern. Fern Skystone. And this is Ford Skystone. Fern and Ford.”

“Fern Skystone,” Cub murmured, his tired eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his snout gently against Fern’s tiny body. “Ford Skystone.”

But then something tight and sharp slithered against Cub’s neck. Fear jolted him, sharper than any lightning bolt. He pulled away hard, swinging his head.

“No,” he moaned. “Bad.Run.”

He clawed at the matted fur around his neck. His massive paws scraped open old wounds. In his ears, the else-hand’s cursed voice cackled.

“It hurts,” Cub mumbled. “Ithurts.”

Ford said quietly, “If you touch him, you may get infected. Whatever he’s doing to the land, he might do to us.”

But Fern shook her head. “I don’t think it’shiminfecting the land. It’s that hand he talked about. The hand made of witch-magic. Isn’t that right, Cub?”

Cub grunted and nodded, then wiped his snout on his leg. He loved hearing Fern’s gentle voice and hoped she would keep talking.

“We can’t see the hand,” Fern said, “but he can certainly feel it, and I can see where it rests.Look, Ford.”

She pointed. Cub whimpered and bowed his head, and when Fern stroked beneath his chin, he closed his great tired eyes. A light feeling like furry seeds on the wind was floating through him. Humans, he decided, were far superior to kittens, if only because they knew the proper way to scratch chins.

Ford stretched up on his toes to look and gasped. “His neckis bleeding! Like he’s wearing a collar that’s cutting into his skin.”

“Only you can’t see the collar,” Fern said grimly. “We came down here to find answers. Well, here’s our answer. If we help him, maybe that will help everyone.”

Cub blinked at both of them. They were using so many words, and so quickly. Cub had to work hard to understand. “Help?” he rumbled.

“If he can get to the surface,” said Ford, “and we can all explain what’s happening, maybe the queen and her advisers will help us find a solution.”

Fern stared up at Cub. Her face looked very serious—at least Cub thought so. He was not used to humans and their strange little foal faces.

Cub trembled as he listened to them. What if the else-hand let him go and grabbed on to them instead?

But he was tired of being lonely, and their tiny hands were so warm on his cold nose.

He held very still as Fern reached for the knot of clover hanging from his jaw. She touched a bright yellow flower that bloomed there.

“Are you afraid, Cub?” Fern asked quietly.

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