The Hunt of the Grimalkin (Erresuma Book 1) Dani Swanson (reading women .txt) 📖

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. She stirred in her sleep. Scratch. She slowly opened her eyes as she stretched her arms over her head. She looked down and saw Fig standing erect, staring at the door. His tail was puffed with hairs on end and his ears were pinned back. A low throaty growl was coming from his throat. Scratch. Scratch. The noise seemed to be coming from the other side of the door, then from under the window, and then back at the door. She reached for her bag and got out the little knife. She slowly got to her feet and crept to the window. She pulled back the corner of the curtain and peered into the darkness. Fig let out a cry that sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. It sounded like a war cry that a lion would roar. She dropped the curtain just as a shadowy figure started to run toward the forest. When the lightning struck and lit up the field she could see the large black figure reach the edge of the trees; just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished into nothing.

She was trembling as she looked out into the grim nothingness. Fig’s tail had returned to normal size and his ears were no longer pinned to his head. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the window uneasily. Fig came and nudged her arm as if he was trying to comfort her. They laid back down on the soft bed. Sleep did not come back, at least not soundly. When the morning came, the sun came too. The rain had finally stopped and the warm daylight filled the windows of the cabin.

They ventured outside onto the rickety porch. Everything had a light dew covering it that glistened in the sun.  There was a small vegetable garden off to the side that she hadn’t noticed that first night. It had become overgrown and clearly ravaged by many critters. It looked as if it hadn’t been tended to in months. There was nothing around the clearing except for trees. Trees in all directions.

She went back inside and packed up a few of the books, the bag of herbs, the knife, and the matches. She changed into the pants she had found and tied a cloak over her shoulders. “Fig, I have to find people. I need to know where I am. Who I am.” The cat looked as if he understood and walked to the door, waiting for her to open it.

Fig dashed out to the left. Naturally, she followed the cat. After all, Fig knows the way.

Chapter four

Walking through the woods, collecting nuts and berries along the way, she hummed the song from the music box. She stopped often to look through her book of herbs, roots, and berries, and collected the ones that weren’t poisonous. She didn’t want to go without food again. Little Fig ran through the forest and had a rodent for lunch as she munched on berries and brassica root. The path they were on continued West. Soon the trees started to thin, and it became more of a road beneath their feet instead of the mossy path they had started on. Following the sun down the trail, she saw something over the tops of the trees. Smoke. Swirling grey billows of smoke were dancing above the trees as they came out of a chimney stack in the distance. “Look Fig!” she squealed with excitement. The little tabby looked up at her and meowed.

The smoke was still far off in the distance, but it gave her hope. As they walked on she started to get that same feeling that they were not alone. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end as she looked down at Fig who had stopped moving and was staring behind her with his tail puffed out and his ears pinned back. Slowly she turned around and looked in the direction of the cat’s glare. She saw a large shadow darting away from them through the trees. She spoke through a lump in her throat as she yelled after it, “What do you want? I see you!” She scooped up a rock and threw it in the direction where the shadow figure had been. A cackling laugh echoed through the trees and diminished. Fig hissed. “What was that,” she panted. Could a grimalkin be a real thing?

She bent down and started petting Fig until his tail returned to its normal size. They started to walk again, but she constantly looked back over her shoulder.

As she continued to walk down the road, she noticed a sweet smell drifting through the air. “Cinnamon?” she deduced. “Do you smell that, Fig?” The scent was filling her nose as they walked, but where could it be coming from? The billowy smoke was still a few miles ahead and all she could see were trees and the forest floor glowing in the sunshine.

Fig turned his head to the side as if listening intently to something. He crouched down and began to stalk some unseen prey, ready to pounce. He crept ever so slowly towards a small boulder covered in moss. “What are you doing, cat? We need to keep going,” she followed after him, attempting to scoop him up, but he was too quick for her grasp. He moved to the bottom of the rock toward a group of mushrooms. The smell of cinnamon grew stronger as she followed Fig. “What is that?” she asked with a whisper. She tilted her head to one side and a curious smile spread across her lips. “What is it?” she whispered again.

The little mushroom cluster had a glowing light that wasn’t from the sunshine. The mushrooms were all in a circle and the strange light seemed to come from the fungi