A Shepherd's Calling (What Comes After Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Peter Carrier
crossed paths.” He smiled and pointed to the locked aluminum shutter that served as a barrier to the outside world. “Well... technically, it was on the other side of that door.”
4.2
That thing was god damned huge .
Chris Farr leaned a little closer, checking the moist earth near the metal personnel door. The early morning sun was dispelling some of the shadows, but the mist could be playing tricks on his old eyes. One hand on the wall of the fire house, he bent lower still. Tracing the edges of the depression with his index finger, the outdoors-man could only shake his head in wonder.
He stretched his hand forward, palm down across the disturbance. Even splayed completely open, the outside edges of the print peeked from beneath the Hunter's hand. He suppressed a shudder that had little to do with the spring chill and Chris let his eyes follow the tracks. Clear as the day would be long, they trailed across the yard at front of the building and disappeared into the still darkened woods. Evenly spaced and cleanly pressed, this told him whatever had made the prints was likely unhurt and moving with some purpose. Like him, it was probably hunting. The tracks were fresh, too: only hours old.
This thought did not sit well with Chris. Frowning, he put his hands atop his knees, making to push himself out of his squat. Another thought occurred to him, and the impulse to rise was suppressed, every bit as much by habit as instinctive self-preservation.
There should be very few wolves in these parts, and none that large. Christ, that thing must be nearly my size. Realization struck him with the force of a hammer. He felt his back stiffen while his guts twisted and tightened.
Idiot , he chastised himself. When are you gonna learn?
Eyes and ears alert, the older man slowly resumed standing. He winced at the popping of his knee and hip, more for the noise of their protest rather than any discomfort he felt. With exaggerated slowness, he turned toward the forest and began casually crossing the open field. While his stride suggested he was at ease, it was all Chris could do to keep his eyes focused ahead. He knew better than to rubberneck. That would only tell the hunters their prey was aware of something amiss and that time to strike was at hand. Act natural , he told himself. You only need another dozen steps to make that tree, then you'll be fine . This ain't your first rodeo.
The rustle came a few steps later. As he suspected, it was behind him and to the right. However, it was much closer than he thought it would be. This far from the fire house, the grass and brush were close to knee height. Even if his pursuer were an accomplished stalker, slinking that close to the ground unseen would be a nearly impossible task. And I would have heard or seen something before now , Chris thought dryly. I may be old, but I'm not deaf . He silenced the rest of his thoughts when the rustling became a sliding whisper.
He knew better than to wait for another sound. There would be no growl or grunt or howl until after the chase had been joined and by then, it would likely be too late for him. A single step took him from stroll to sprint. He also knew better than to turn and deal with the one at his back. Not when he saw, from the corner of his eye, a large beast lurking just inside the tree line. He could see it pacing him, judging his speed and distance, ready to burst into the clearing at a moment's notice.
When the evergreen was but a few yards away, Chris felt the nip at his calf. The creature's teeth failed to find purchase, due to some combination of mistimed attack and the thick hide and denim that made up the his leggings. Lucky, there , he thought with quickened breath. His eyes still on the bigger animal to his left, he noticed it remained couched in the shadowed forest.
Means the next one's close enough . His mind formed this thought, more emotional impulse than conscious connection of words, as he took one last step and threw
4.2
That thing was god damned huge .
Chris Farr leaned a little closer, checking the moist earth near the metal personnel door. The early morning sun was dispelling some of the shadows, but the mist could be playing tricks on his old eyes. One hand on the wall of the fire house, he bent lower still. Tracing the edges of the depression with his index finger, the outdoors-man could only shake his head in wonder.
He stretched his hand forward, palm down across the disturbance. Even splayed completely open, the outside edges of the print peeked from beneath the Hunter's hand. He suppressed a shudder that had little to do with the spring chill and Chris let his eyes follow the tracks. Clear as the day would be long, they trailed across the yard at front of the building and disappeared into the still darkened woods. Evenly spaced and cleanly pressed, this told him whatever had made the prints was likely unhurt and moving with some purpose. Like him, it was probably hunting. The tracks were fresh, too: only hours old.
This thought did not sit well with Chris. Frowning, he put his hands atop his knees, making to push himself out of his squat. Another thought occurred to him, and the impulse to rise was suppressed, every bit as much by habit as instinctive self-preservation.
There should be very few wolves in these parts, and none that large. Christ, that thing must be nearly my size. Realization struck him with the force of a hammer. He felt his back stiffen while his guts twisted and tightened.
Idiot , he chastised himself. When are you gonna learn?
Eyes and ears alert, the older man slowly resumed standing. He winced at the popping of his knee and hip, more for the noise of their protest rather than any discomfort he felt. With exaggerated slowness, he turned toward the forest and began casually crossing the open field. While his stride suggested he was at ease, it was all Chris could do to keep his eyes focused ahead. He knew better than to rubberneck. That would only tell the hunters their prey was aware of something amiss and that time to strike was at hand. Act natural , he told himself. You only need another dozen steps to make that tree, then you'll be fine . This ain't your first rodeo.
The rustle came a few steps later. As he suspected, it was behind him and to the right. However, it was much closer than he thought it would be. This far from the fire house, the grass and brush were close to knee height. Even if his pursuer were an accomplished stalker, slinking that close to the ground unseen would be a nearly impossible task. And I would have heard or seen something before now , Chris thought dryly. I may be old, but I'm not deaf . He silenced the rest of his thoughts when the rustling became a sliding whisper.
He knew better than to wait for another sound. There would be no growl or grunt or howl until after the chase had been joined and by then, it would likely be too late for him. A single step took him from stroll to sprint. He also knew better than to turn and deal with the one at his back. Not when he saw, from the corner of his eye, a large beast lurking just inside the tree line. He could see it pacing him, judging his speed and distance, ready to burst into the clearing at a moment's notice.
When the evergreen was but a few yards away, Chris felt the nip at his calf. The creature's teeth failed to find purchase, due to some combination of mistimed attack and the thick hide and denim that made up the his leggings. Lucky, there , he thought with quickened breath. His eyes still on the bigger animal to his left, he noticed it remained couched in the shadowed forest.
Means the next one's close enough . His mind formed this thought, more emotional impulse than conscious connection of words, as he took one last step and threw
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