MoboReader> Fantasy > The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - The Sleeping Tree

   Chapter 8 No.8

The Adventures of Larson and Garrett - The Sleeping Tree By AaronDennis Characters: 5415

Updated: 2017-12-28 12:04

"Getting dark, " she mumbled.

"Yeah, " Larson agreed. "Can I go out and take a look at the cows real quick?"

She smiled and nodded. A smirk played on Larson's lips, but for a very different reason. He cheerfully walked out onto the portico then rounded the house. He saw two large, black bulls, but they didn't so much as notice his presence. He walked to the back of the house, found an open barrel with torches sticking out, and took one. Then, he walked to the small shack a few yards from the house.

The wooden door creaked when he pulled it open. He looked around. Puffy clouds were swooping across the sky. The eastern horizon was turning orange. Wind ruffled his hair. He quickly started a search for flint. Once he found some, he bolted across the ranch and west into town.

A wave of guilt flooded the boy. He knew that the Etreeses were going to feel responsible for losing sight of him. He knew that his brother was going to be upset, too, but the nagging desire to be a man, to play an active role in helping the town, had been overpowering. No one writes songs or books about cowards, about people who run away or hide from danger.

By the time he made it into town, it was twilight. The brightest of stars speckled the dim, bluish-black sky. Most of the clouds had passed, but there were streaks of gray that seemed painted into the expanse high overhead. Larson then saw torchlight. There were people milling about, obviously heading towards the schoolhouse to repeat the events of the night before.

Hiding behind a thorny bush, he waited for the bulk of the townsfolk to vanish behind the din

rest, where the pines were only feet away from each other, the sound turned into a voice, a woman's voice. It didn't say anything specific, or intelligible, though. By then, his feet were moving of their own accord, and he was too drunk from the sound of the woman's voice to notice that a clearing grew visible through the pines.

A sudden fear froze him on the spot. A strange dualism had formed within him. The real Larson, the awake Larson, knew that danger was afoot; the reaper was only yards away, but the other Larson, the dreaming Larson, wanted to keep moving. He thought of his dad's disappearance, his brother venturing off to find a mage in the city, Mr. Thatcher's trip to Half Pine, and that the Etreeses were probably worried sick. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he took a few steps forwards and spotted a hill through the pines.

"Come to me, Son, " the musical voice seemed to say. "I need your help." Inexplicably, Larson thought of the fact that he didn't know his mother; that there was no way it was her voice. "Please, Son, I need you. I love you."

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