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. The man scanned the trees. There are wild things in these hills.Nasty boogies that live in holes.They steal little boys like you.And do youknow what they do with them?The boy shook his head. They make stew out of their livers and shoes out of their hides.Now comealong.We ve much ground to cover by dark.PETER ARRIVED AT the village well after dark.His feet and legs ached, hisstomach growled.But he ignored his body s grumblings, there was only onething on his mind the boy.He waited in the trees until the men finished putting away the beasts, untilthere was no one moving in the night but him.There were a dozen roundhousessimilar to the one he d been born in, plus a sprawling stable.These werebuilt around a large square.Pigs grunted, and chickens clucked in a pensomewhere.Peter slipped silently in among the structures, feeling exposed out among thebuildings, sure he was being watched, that the huge, brutish men were waitingfor him around every corner.He pulled out his flint knife and ducked fromshadow to shadow, sniffing, alert to the slightest sound.He wrinkled hisnose; the village stank of beasts, sour sweat, and human waste.Peter wonderedwhy anyone would want to live here instead of in the woods.He pushed up against the boy s house, sliding his back along the rough stoneand sod wall, creeping up to a small, round window.Dogs began barking frominside and Peter s heart drummed in his chest.A deep, gruff voice quieted thedogs.Peter tried to peek in the window, but the heavy shutters were closedand locked tight.He plucked at the mud between the slats with his knife untilPage 40ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmla thin beam of light appeared.Peter peered in.The room looked for all the world as his home had when he was an infant: thelarge hearth, the kettles and pots, the spruce hanging from the rafters.Thewhole family was seated around the table, passing bowls of potatoes andcabbage, the boys giggling and carrying on.Peter inhaled, and the rich smell of smoked meat and baked bread broughtmemories of his own family flooding vividly back to him.An overwhelminglonging hit him so hard that his legs gave way and he slid down the wall andsat in the dirt.He hugged his legs as his eyes welled up.He shut them tightand hot tears rolled down his cheeks. Mama, he whispered.Her laugh, herbroad smile, her sweet smell, all of it felt so close, as though he could justwalk into this house and she d be there would call him to her, would crush himagainst her warm bosom and sing him lullabies.Peter ground his teeth togetherand wiped angrily at his tears.He knew very well what would happen if heknocked on this door.A gale of laughter escaped through the window, not just the boys , but thewhole family, all of them laughing together.Peter glared into the night.Thelaughter continued, pricking at him.He jabbed his knife into the dirt. Whocares? he whispered through clenched teeth. Who wants to be stuck in astupid stinky house, with mean stupid grown-ups anyhow?His stomach growled and he stood up.He made his way toward the stable,seeking out the henhouse.Maybe I ll burn their house down.Then they ll knowhow it is to be out in the cold.He found the henhouse, silently slid over the latch, and slipped in.A fewhens raised their heads, clucked, and eyed him suspiciously.Peter waited forthem to settle, then helped himself to all the eggs he could find.He spiedseveral burlap sacks heaped in the corner, picked one up, and measured itagainst himself.About right.He left the coup, prowled the stable until hefound some rope and a bludgeon.He held the short, stout piece of wood out,tested its weight.He hoped he wouldn t need it, but brought it along anyway,just in case, because he d never stolen a child before and thought a good,stout stick might just be in order.He hid the stash behind a giant oak tree that stood on the edge of a field.Heclimbed up into the oak to sleep, but sleep didn t come easy.Tomorrow, hethought.Going to catch me a Edwin.PETER AWOKE TO the rooster s crow.He sat up, inhaled the brisk morning air,and wondered if the boy was about yet.He hopped down from the tree.The sunwas just peeping over the rise, and a fine mist covered the freshly turnedearth in the nearby fields.He relieved himself, then crouched next to theoak, watching, waiting.He didn t have a plan, not yet, not beyond gettingEdwin to come behind the tree so that he could put him in that sack.Men, women, and older children came out and began to go about their day.Soonthe air was alive with the clank of the smith s hammer, livestock being fed,the calls and grunts of men at field work, but still no sign of the boy.Peter began to fidget.He didn t like being so close to the village, too awareof the many men about.Finally he heard spirited shouts and caught sight ofEdwin and the other boy.Peter watched them head across the square and intothe stables.They reappeared a moment later carrying a bucket in each hand,then disappeared into a line of trees at the bottom of a slope.Peter checkedfor any nearby men, then dashed from haystack to haystack, crossing the fieldto the trees.He found them filling their buckets in a small brook.He slid behind a thicketof blackberry bushes.The boys climbed carefully up the slope, watching theirstep as they lugged the pails of water.Peter waited until they were almostupon him, then leaped out. Hi!The boys screamed, turned to run, and crashed into each other.Both boys,their pails, and the water spilled back down the slope.Peter fell to his knees, laughing so hard he had to clutch his belly.The two boys exchanged terrified looks.Then Edwin s face broke into a grin.Page 41ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Hey, it s him! he cried.The other boy looked perplexed. It s him, Edwin repeated. The wood elf! See, Otho.I told you. Edwinpunched the other boy on the shoulder. Now who s the idjit?Otho squinted at Peter. Are you really a wood elf? His name s Peter, Edwin said. Show him your ears, Peter.Peter pushed back his raccoon mask. See! Well damn, Otho said. A wood elf.A real wood elf. He reached out andtouched Peter, as though making sure he was real. What are you doing here? Let s play, Peter said. Play? Otho responded. We can t.We got all sorts of stupid chores to do. Not every day you get to play with a wood elf, Edwin said. Well, yeah.That s true, Otho agreed [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]