theĀ eveningĀ gnawsĀ lazilyĀ onĀ theĀ meatĀ ofĀ theĀ lateĀ hour ,Ā grindingĀ itĀ downĀ intoĀ nothingĀ butĀ theĀ remnantsĀ ofĀ anĀ age-oldĀ devouring ; Ā dustingĀ theĀ forestĀ floorĀ inĀ shortĀ shadowsĀ andĀ theĀ bruiseĀ ofĀ aĀ night'sĀ becoming. Ā periclesĀ snortsĀ quietlyĀ behindĀ them , Ā breakingĀ theĀ unnaturalĀ silenceĀ ofĀ roanokeĀ ridgeĀ likeĀ anĀ actĀ ofĀ defiance , Ā likeĀ aĀ rebellionĀ againstĀ someĀ unwrittenĀ worldĀ orderĀ toĀ growĀ meekĀ inĀ theĀ faceĀ ofĀ suchĀ aĀ hungryĀ place. Ā somewhereĀ inĀ theĀ distance , Ā anĀ owlĀ shrieks āĀ likeĀ it'sĀ preemptivelyĀ mourningĀ periclesĀ forĀ hisĀ ownĀ mistake ; Ā asĀ ifĀ itĀ knowsĀ thereĀ willĀ beĀ aĀ demandedĀ consequenceĀ forĀ theĀ sinĀ ofĀ makingĀ aĀ soundĀ inĀ thisĀ landĀ ofĀ monstersĀ madeĀ man. Ā (Ā miguelĀ doesn'tĀ belongĀ here , Ā arthurĀ knowsĀ thisĀ intrinsicĀ truthĀ somewhereĀ deepĀ inĀ hisĀ bones. Ā heĀ mayĀ haveĀ talonsĀ ļ¹ Ā fangs , Ā butĀ he'sĀ stillĀ onlyĀ halfĀ theĀ horrorĀ ofĀ dutch'sĀ gun. Ā theseĀ woodsĀ welcomeĀ arthurĀ inĀ aĀ wayĀ theyĀ willĀ neverĀ welcomeĀ theĀ spider. Ā thatĀ isĀ toĀ say , Ā theseĀ treesĀ willĀ alwaysĀ loveĀ theĀ hunters ,Ā forĀ theyĀ growĀ fromĀ blood - stainedĀ soil.Ā )
ā how did you find me? ā asks paranines
the mumbled question is almost lost to the crunch of leaves under boot ļ¹ the halfhearted jingle of well - loved spurs as arthur draws closer. ā oh , wasn't so hard . . . once i started followin' the trail of cryin' women and children. ā he shoots back , voice scraped rough with the dirt of the ride.
ā c'mon , scoot. ā he commands , nudging the welt of his boot against miguel's ass to try and prod him into sliding over , leaving room for arthur to sit on the clifftop beside him.
