I set the others with stronger stomachs to dragging the bodies away from
the clearing, and went back to see how badly Kyral was hurt. He had the
rip in his arm and his face was covered with blood from a shallow scalp
wound, but he insisted on getting up to inspect the hurts of the others.
There was no one without a claw-wound in leg or back or shoulder, but
none were serious, and we were all feeling fairly cheerful when someone
demanded, "Where's Cuinn?"
He didn't seem to be anywhere. Kyral, staggering slightly, insisted on
searching, but I felt we wouldn't find him. "He probably went off with
his friends," I snorted, and told about the signaling. Kyral looked
grave.
"You should have told me," he began, but shouts from the far end of the
clearing sent us racing there. We nearly stumbled over a single,
solitary, motionless form, outstretched and lifeless, blind eyes staring
upward at the moons.
It was Cuinn. And his throat had been torn completely out.
CHAPTER SIX
Once we were free of the forest, the road to the Dry-towns lay straight
before us, with no hidden dangers.
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