He had never had anything like this happen. He raised his bow and sighted down the arrow at the moving grass. He didn’t see the cat. It must be crouched low. He waited for it to show itself, but it didn’t. Should he stay there and wait the beast out or try and make it to his lodge? He liked the second idea best, but the cat might follow him, imperiling those he loved most in the world. A low snarl warned him the cat hadn’t gone anywhere. He backed toward the forest, and the grass moved as if to invisible hands, bending in the direction he was going. In frustration he almost let loose his shaft. Two Knives slid one foot behind him and then the other. The grass caught at his ankles, and he was careful not to stumble. The bow string dug into his fingers, but he didn’t relax it. In his wake stalked the cat. Two Knives did not sweat often, but he sweated now. Drops beaded his brow, and his buckskin shirt became so wet it clung to him. He risked a glance behind him and saw he had a long way to go to the trees.
