Tide | Tide Book One (Free Sample)

One

The hare crept forward, nose twitching. Its ears were up and alert, swiveling at every rustle of grass and breath of wind, so I kept stone-still as I watched it. I held my breath, afraid even the slightest exhalation would scare it off. But its attention remained fixed on the thin slices of apple before it. Its fur, turned a dusty brown by summer, rippled in the breeze, and I thought of it lining a new pair of boots for this winter.

Beside me, Tobin tensed, his gray eyes sharp as a hawk's and set on the hare. A light touch of his fingertips to my elbow was the signal; I pulled the bowstring back, heart quickening in anticipation. I could hear Tobin's voice in my head—aim there. Concentrate on where you want to hit. The hare's ears flicked in our direction at the whisper, but it didn't look. I kept still another moment.

It sniffed at an apple slice. Another quiet second.

Another.

It nibbled at our bait. Tobin gave a slight nod, and I loosed the arrow, closing my eyes and mentally saying a quick prayer to the old gods. I knew before I'd finished the arrow had found its mark; Tobin laughed, a relieved sort of sound, and clapped me on the back. By the time I'd opened my eyes again he was already vaulting to his feet, leaving me behind. I couldn't keep from grinning as I followed. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

"That's three of the five today," Tobin said as he stooped to pick up the hare. "I'd say your garden should be plenty safe. And to top it off, we'll have some nice fresh meat for dinner."

Three out of five—better than I'd done yet. I knew Tobin could fill our sack to the brim with game in no time, but he'd been infinitely patient in letting me do it, offering nothing more than gentle correction when needed. I handed him the bow, and he traded me the sack of our three hares. "We did better than yesterday."

"You did, you mean," he corrected with a smile. "I'll make a huntress of you yet."

"They're only rabbits. You've hunted much bigger things."

"And I started with rabbits, too, if you remember." I did; his seventh summer he'd come racing into the house evening after evening to present his victorious catches to Mama and I. Two years later, when I'd reached the same age, I had asked our father to teach me to hunt as well, but Mama had insisted a young lady shouldn't be galloping about the wilds with a bow.

"Summer hares are one thing," I said. "But I think it'll be years yet before I'm hunting anything else."

"One day, Hania." There was a promise in his voice that I didn't question. My brother never lied to me. He paused halfway across the field, basking in the warm weather. The breeze lifted his hair—golden, like our mother's—and the sun cast glistening slants of light through it. I could see just why the village girls followed him with whispers and giggles; he stood tall and proud, strong from a lifetime of hunting and farm work, and had inherited the fair, noble features of our ancestors. As he stood there, he might have stood in one of the painted scenes in the village center, but I didn't stop to admire him long. I closed my eyes against the sun as well, tipping my head to the sky and inhaling the sweet scent of flowers and woods, the distant salt of the shore. The grass was velvet-soft where it brushed against my legs, and the songs of birds rang around us. Summer was when our home came alive, and I loved every second of it.

A beckoning whinny drifted along the wind to us and broke me from the spell. "More work to be done," Tobin said, slinging the bow across his shoulder and setting off. I hurried to catch up. We walked in comfortable silence; the sun warmed our backs, reaching its highest point of the day, and at home would wait a full table. I had a list of things to be done, but I didn't dread any of them. The day promised to be a peaceful one.