shirt over his shoulder and headed for the woods to find Pup.
It got cooler as soon as he stepped into the trees, splinters of light coming through the gaps at the tops of the old giants of the forest. He talked to them sometimes when Pup was out hunting, or when Jak had left him sleeping in front of the fire. Sometimes he got so lonely—needed another person so much—that he pretended the trees were wise old men who had answers to his millions of questions, and if he just listened hard enough, they’d whisper what they knew. The way they whispered to each other deep under the ground.
The same, only different, as the whispers inside of him.
Maybe he shouldn’t hope the trees would share their whispers. Maybe if they did, he’d know he’d started to lose his mind.
Maybe the forest made everyone who lived there go crazy finally, because Driscoll didn’t seem right in the head either.
“Pup,” he called, pushing a branch aside. Where is he?
Jak stilled when he heard what he thought was a whimper, turning toward the sound and moving faster through the shrubs just sprouting pale green leaves. That’s when he saw him, lying on the forest floor in a pool of spreading blood.
“Pup!” he yelled, running to him, and falling to his knees at his side. There was a long wooden arrow sticking from Pup’s neck, blood flowing from the wound. Jak’s heart pounded with fear and sickness. “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay,” he choked as he pulled on the arrow and Pup made an awful, high-pitched screaming noise and more blood poured from the wound. Jak let out a sob, not knowing what to do. He put his hands around the arrow, trying so hard to stop the rushing blood. He met Pup’s half-closed gaze and the wolf held eye contact for a few moments, his tongue poking out to lick Jak’s wrist, his blood pumping between Jak’s fingers.
Jak sobbed again as Pup’s body went still, the blood slowing into a trickle. Tears flowed down Jak’s cheeks as he took his hands from around the arrow and picked up Pup’s large body, rocking the giant animal in his arms. My friend. My friend. My friend. He cried, his sobs mixing with the wind as it blew through the branches of the trees who stood on, watching, whispering to each other, but only ever that.
“I thought he was wild. I didn’t know.”
Jak whipped his head around and Driscoll was standing close by, a bow in his hand, arrows strapped to his waist. Jak’s gaze moved slowly from Driscoll’s face to the weapon he held and back again. The man had killed Pup. Rage, hotter than the sun, went through Jak and slowly, he lowered Pup’s body to the ground, coming to his full height, the feel of Pup’s blood warm on his bare chest. He lowered his head and growled, low in his throat.
Driscoll’s eyes went wide as he looked at him, and though he looked scared, there was something else shining from his eyes. That look that had shined from Baka’s eyes when Jak did something good. That weird excitement that had been on his face when he was showing Jak the picture in his bedroom.
“I’m going to kill you,” Jak growled. Meaning it. He was going to tear his throat out.
Driscoll nodded, backing away as he raised his hand. Jak went forward, sadness and anger making him feel dizzy like the forest had started to spin around him. No, he wouldn’t tear his throat out. He was going to grab that bow and arrow from Driscoll before he could raise it and bury one of those arrows in his neck. His heart. Jak’s back teeth scraped against each other.
“I understand how you feel, but listen. Listen,” Driscoll said, his voice shaking. “I can get you one of these if you want.” He held up the bow and nodded down to the arrows at his side.
Driscoll raised his hand again. “If you harm me, they’ll come looking. My friend in town will know something’s wrong if I don’t show up for supplies. And they’ll come out here and find you. Do you want that?”
They’re killing the children.
Only, Jak wasn’t a child anymore.
But he wasn’t yet a man either.
He stopped, that old terror swimming in his veins, mixing with the horrible swirling sadness of Pup dead behind him. He all of a sudden felt so tired he wanted to drop to his knees. He ached