The Hunt of the Grimalkin (Erresuma Book 1) by Dani Swanson (read aloud books txt) 📕

anything: where she was, what she was wearing, nor the little orange cat that had followed her. Nothing.

A grumble came from her stomach. “I guess I have to find something to eat,” she said to the little cat. “You coming?”

“Meow.”

The two started to walk west of the lake. She figured at least she could stay with the light and follow the sun. The forest was thick and had many different birds and creatures scampering in the shadows. She saw tiny tree frogs in shades of greens and reds jumping in the moss, and birds of all colors singing in the trees. The little cat kept up with her pace through the trees as they followed a small brook runoff from the lake. A few small fish darted from bank to bank. Abruptly the little cat stopped, staring at the fish. With a loud growl and small splash he was in the water and had returned in a flash with a fish between his teeth. He dropped the flopping, finned creature at her feet, weaving in and out of her ankles, purring. Pleasantly surprised, she bent down and scratched his ears.

“Such a good boy! Now we need to figure out how to cook it.” She looked around for a place to start a fire. She grabbed the wiggling fish, then grabbed a rock. “Sorry fish,” she muttered as she smashed its head.

She gathered some dry sticks and piled them next to her waiting meal. The little orange cat had settled next to the fish and would slyly lick it when she was not looking. She grabbed two rocks and hit them together to try to spark her kindling. She sat and pounded the rocks over and over again. Her head was throbbing and her stomach was in knots. She was exhausted and scared. Repeatedly she clicked the rocks on the dry wood. Little red sparks shot out, but none caught the brush. Tears started to roll down her cheeks; they felt hot as they made their way to her chin.

“Start,” she whispered. “Start. Start. Why won’t you start?” her voice got louder with each strike. She got mad and yelled “Just start!” as she threw the rocks at the wood with a final clink of the stone. A small spark started to burn the brush. Her crying turned to laughter as she carefully blew on the ember. Soon she had a fire.

The little cat sat by the flames before he circled twice and laid down, purring in his sleep. She picked up a sharp looking stick and pushed it through the fish, gagging the whole while. She roasted the fish over the fire as she rubbed her temple and watched the shadows dance on the forest floor around her. She ate the fish, ripping the pieces from the bones with her fingers and fed some to her new feline friend.

“Do you have a name, little boy?” she asked the cat, while he was cleaning his face after his dinner.

“Meow,” he responded emphatically. His golden eyes seemed to smile at her as he continued to purr.

“Meow it is,” she said with a smirk. She knew it was time to get going, and at least find some shelter. Or, better yet, a person to ask where she was.

She stamped out the fire and went to have a drink from the brook. Meow followed her with a little sprint. They trailed the flowing water; Meow splashing at fish, running ahead, and then waiting for her to catch up. There were flowers along the edge of the creek that swayed in the breeze. The sun was slowly starting to set and it could have been a peaceful evening if she hadn’t been so nervous for what would come with the darkness. Meow was no longer running ahead but was right next to her legs.

She was getting weak, tired, confused, and sore. Tears started to burn in the corner of her eyes for the second time since awakening in the woods. “Well little cat, I’m not sure what to do anymore,” she said, her voice cracking as she tried to hold back the tears. She sat down on a moss covered rock, feeling defeated, and looked around.

She gave in and started to cry when suddenly all the little hairs on her arms stood up. She had the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. She stopped crying, held her breath in a gasp, and peered through the dense woods. She noticed that the little birds that had been singing could no longer be heard, in fact no animals could be heard, and even the flowers seemed still; like there was death in the air.

Slowly, she stood from where she sat and turned to inspect her surroundings, but nothing was there. Meow took the corner of her skirt in his mouth and started to tug. She looked down at him to see his sleek tail was now puffed out on its ends. “You feel it too, don’t you?” she whispered to him.

“Meow,” he squeaked as he continued their trek down the brook. She cautiously followed behind the cat, constantly looking behind her. She saw a small branch that had fallen from one of the trees and decided to grab it. Perhaps it would be a good idea to carry a walking stick.

The peculiar silence slowly abated to the sounds of the breeze, and the birds, the farther down the creek they traveled. The water began to veer off to the left. When they reached the bend in the brook Meow took off in a sprint straight ahead. “Hey!” she yelled after him, “Where are you going?!” She lifted her walking stick to her hip and ran after the cat in a panic. She already felt alone; there was no way she was going to let the one friend she had out of her sight. The trees were streaking past her in