Prince Nera Mossveil's Arc

Chapter 18 of 23

Two fawns stood at the edge of the brush with the wet cloth between them and Nera's glove. A third came out behind them, then a fourth. Four fawns in the meadow, none of them his to keep unless he could get a hand on them without spooking the group. He kept his arm low. He did not step forward. The scent was doing the work. His job now was to hold still until the animals crossed the last stretch of grass on their own. Atletha stayed back by the horses. She had unwrapped her cloak and laid it flat on the ground beside the linen. Nera had told her what he wanted. Once the fawns were close enough, she would move behind them at a slow walk and close the gap they had come through. Not driving them. Just standing in the gap. He needed every one of them inside the ring the scent had drawn. He had one lure and one try. The smallest fawn came in first. It nosed the wet cloth. Nera let it lick the milk from the leather. He set his other hand on its shoulder and it flinched but did not run. The second pressed in behind it, jealous of the jar smell. He kept his voice out of his throat. The third fawn hung back at ten paces, ears twitching at every shift of wind. Atletha stepped. One pace, then another. The third fawn's head came up. Nera saw the muscle bunch in its haunches and knew the shape of a bolt before it happened. If that one broke, the others would follow. He did the only thing left. He pulled the linen off the branch and dropped it in the grass between his boots. The scent flooded low. The third fawn's nose dropped with it. All four heads came down to the ground where the cloth lay, and Nera crouched slow among them with the wet glove out. Atletha closed the last of the gap behind them and stood there, cloak spread wide at her sides. The fawns fed on the smell and did not lift their heads. He got a lead rope on the smallest. Then the next. The last two he tied nose to tail behind the first pair, the way a herd master ropes a green string. None of them fought the line. The milk cloth stayed in his glove and he let each of them work at it in turn while he knotted the leads. When he stood up, four fawns stood with him. "We have them," Atletha said. Nera counted the leads in his hand and counted again. Four recovered. The rest of the sacred herd was still scattered north, and he had no more scent cloths left in his coat. He mounted with the string tied to his saddle horn and turned the horse toward the road. The lure was spent. Whatever came next, he would need a different way to call them in.