Page 91 of The Vixen

Footsteps crunch as he comes to stand in front of me. I look up at him with what I can only guess is a dumbstruck expression.

He knew.

I look at the patch of snow only a few yards away covering the pressure pad. A three by three foot section—my bestguessof its location. I can’t see it. Not with it covered. Not at night.

How does he do this?

“Sorry.” Sawyer crouches and extends a hand. His eyes twinkle like glass in the faint moonlight like they’re as slick as the ice wetting my knees. When I don’t take his hand, he crooks his thumb over his shoulder. “You were about to step on a snare.”

I open my mouth, but words don’t immediately exit. It isn’t until cold bites into my shins that I place my hand delicately in his and let him help me up.

“How did you know?” I whisper as my gaze roams the untouched snow. He tucks his hands into his pockets and lifts his shoulders to shield his ears from the cold. When he turnsto look over his shoulder, it’s clear that he has no intention of telling me.

But as I take in the tree one last time, I no longer need him to. Something catches my eye, something seemingly innocuous. I carefully circle the snare to the tree and crouch in front of a subtle waist-high gleam.

It’s wet, but not with snow. I trace the sappy bark until I feel the subtle slice. I would have no idea it’d been tampered with if it wasn’t the only explanation.

“You cut the tree,” I say as I study the slight sheen to the bark.

Sawyer looms over my shoulder. If he’s worried I’ve learned his secret, he doesn’t voice his fear.

“It’s called a sap drip.”

A sap drip…

Why is that not familiar?

“How did you get a knife?” I ask, though it’s a stupid question. The cut is shallow. He could’ve done this with a rock.

Before he can decide not to answer, I shake my head. “I had twenty Keepers searching for markings on these trees.”

“Yeah, well… It’s cold, Luna. We’re over a mile from the Keep… Let’s head back.”

I stare a few moments longer before standing and turning to follow Sawyer through the snowy woods, no doubt he knows where he’s going. No idea how he could.

No idea how to get rid of a ‘sap drip’ or how long it’ll last. Any attempts to stop it will merely mark the tree up to become even more distinguishable.

“Are you a hunter?” I ask, breaking through the eerie silence, only our crunching steps accompanying my voice. The animals have tucked themselves away. Sawyer no longer pants. The wind doesn’t make a sound.

“No.”

I increase my strides so we walk side-by-side. My heart rate is noticeably quick despite the fact I’m no longer running. When he’s around, my resting heartrate is always a few beats higher.

Seconds pass before he glances over at me with an expression I don’t understand. His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. Not for several minutes of walking in silence.

“My father was,” he says.

I blink at him.

His head tips to one side. “A hunter, I mean… His family was fromMon-tana,” he draws out the word with an accent I don’t recognize. “We used to go there in the summers.”

I try to picture it only to discover I know nothing about the state. I don’t think we’ve had an initiate from there.

“And he took you hunting?”

That wouldn’t explain everything. But it would help.

Sawyer’s quiet for several moments. Just as I’m about to prod, he speaks. “Once. For black bears.”