16
‘More blood.’ Clara touched a tree trunk. The bark was soaked in a rich, red stain. Smearing the liquid between her thumb and forefinger, she glanced at Zak, awaiting his verdict. He was a few paces behind. ‘Do you think it’s him?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely, Young One,’ he replied, suppressing an impish smile.
He was always like this in the morning. Unlike Clara, who was unused to sleeping rough and missing meals, Zak loved hunting, especially early in the day. He had begun their mission with the same air of cockiness that permeated most of his life. However, being awake for two days now, Clara could tell his air of certainty was starting to fade. Come sunrise, the cutesy nickname and smirk of a proficient hunter showing off for a newbie was already losing its charm.
Good, she thought.
