nothing to fear. Just two tall men dragging a stone through the woods. And he had just been on the verge of finding the meat and gigging a large, juicy hunk … Better not think about food till I get some.
What was it about that stone? He sure wanted to peek at it again. No men around, mind. Even through the bush where he and Merlin had hidden, he’d seen its dark surface glimmer as if silver was embedded in the rock. That was, of course, before those blue flames shot up from its surface. Now that was strange.
Another breath of the succulent aroma drove thoughts of the stone from his mind. Ah, the best smellin’ tuck in the world. Great hunks of tasty meat roasting and dripping with fat!
He sucked in four more big whiffs and then hid himself behind a tree. Practicing stealth, Garth crept through the forest glade toward the delectable smell. Whenever a twig cracked, he crouched and froze for a bit. Finally arriving at the source of the aroma, he spied the spitted meat roasting over three fires. Sneaking behind a humungous twisted oak, he peeked around the trunk until he saw a woman in a green shawl and brown bonnet plucking a chicken.
She turned her head with a wary eye toward the tree.
Garth yanked his head back just in time.
Oh, if she’d just go away. One hunk of meat — just one! He sniffed the air and could hardly stop himself from running out to grab what he could. He closed his eyes and breathed in large whiffs of meat, his mouth watering. Come on, woman, leave!
Beyond the fires, a girl called loudly.
The woman tending the meat set her chicken down and shouted back, “She has, has she? Give me a bit o’ time! Can’t run in me old age.” She walked off in the other direction.
Garth snuck over to the nearest fire and tried to pull off a chunk of beef, but he found the meat too hot to touch with his bare hands. He should have brought a knife. Lacking one, he went to one of the poor, lonely chickens, and the largest leg practically fell off in his hand. There’s a beauty. Neither the chicken nor Garth would be lonely now. Oh, it felt as if he were floating in heaven!
Sneaking back to the twisted tree, he stopped at a large root and turned around just in time to see the woman striding back.
In his panic, Garth tripped and dropped the chicken leg as he fled to the other side of the tree. He froze a moment before hazarding a look.
The green-shawled woman stepped up to the fires, and seeing the roasted leg missing, she screwed up her face and looked around.
Garth hit his knuckles together until they hurt. Oh, why did I drop it? Just like when he let that big sea bass slip out of the net and his father yelled at him.
His mouth watered again, yet all he could do was take nibbles of the unsatisfying smoke. Oh, please, woman, go away again! Jus’ for a while, please?
Another shout reached his ears. The green-shawled woman stood and stamped her foot. “Broke wha’? Oh, the love o’ fire peat! How many times must I bandage that grandson o’ mine?” She glanced back at the woods, blinked, nodded, then off she went.
Garth waited twenty heartbeats and then ducked around the tree to scoop up the dropped chicken leg.
But it wasn’t there.
It just had to be. He searched all the grass in the immediate area.
Not taking chances, he ran over to the tripod again and sloughed off another juicy leg. He started to run while biting off a chunk — and smacked into someone.
Garth fell down on his backside.
“Hello, hello. And who might you be?” the man said in a deep, rich voice.
Bare feet were planted before Garth, dark and calloused with the dirt of many travels. Long toes sank into the soil like thirsty oak roots, ending with jagged nails. Above the feet a pair of stained woolen breeches rose up until hidden by a tattered sea-green tunic tied with a braided leather belt.
The man leaned over with a piercing stare, and from his chin hung a long black beard streaked with gray and white. At his neck rested a silver torc in the shape of a snake, with blue stones for eyes. His hand gripped a large walking staff carved with images of unknown beasts. At the top sat