“Her, or Deanda,” March teased. “They both giggle and blush, and carry on when you pass them.”

“No more than Jeana Hallin does you,” Brendly returned defensively. He no ced an immediate sadness take hold of March at the men on of her name. “What does she think of you leaving?”

“She’s so perfect and understanding some mes, but lately she’s hard to be around.” March sat up quickly. He was determined not to let his good mood slip away. “All in all I think she’s just another sad sack, like you.” He punched Bren lightly on the shoulder. “She’ll get over it.”

“It’s not that I’m a sad sack, March. I just--” He looked around the camp searching for the right words as if he might find them roos ng in the pine trees or hiding in the thicket. “Who’s gonna help me terrorize Quinton?

And who is gonna race me to the short dock when the krill begin to spawn?” Bren forced a laugh. “And who’s gonna come out here and traipse through the woods with me and scare the white stag off when I have the perfect shot lined up?”

March smiled broadly at his friend. “He was magnificent, wasn’t he? Did you see his antlers? They looked like flaming ice.”

“Yup, he was amazing.”

“I won’t ever forget that moment as long as I live Bren, the way he snorted when I jumped out of the bushes. I think he was laughing at us.”

“He wouldn’t have been laughing if you hadn’t jumped out when you did.”

Bren smiled at the thought.

“I don’t think you’d have done it,” March’s voice turned serious. “When it came me to loose you would have balked, or missed on purpose. Not even you, the great Brendly Tuck, could have killed such a creature.” March stood and yawned as he stretched out his arms.

“Maybe not,” Brendly conceded. He wondered if March was right. He lay awake a long me a er his friend was asleep, wondering about just that.

3

Bren woke with a shock as icy cold water splashed across his face. March’s hysterical laughter filled his bewilderment. The sun was already up. The sounds of the birds chirping and whistling filled the cool air between March’s deep belly roars of mirth.

March handed Bren a pan full of scrambled grouse eggs that he had collected and cooked earlier. With a grimace of friendly disapproval, Brendly took them and woofed them down with his fingers. A er that, they put their bulky packs under the canvas shelter and checked their gear.

They each tested the sharpness of their long skinning knives and made sure that they had plenty of arrows between them. They put enough water and dried beef for the day in their belt pouches and le the things they didn’t think they would need. March pushed his head, and one arm, through a coil of rope and checked to make sure he had his nder box.

They were both accomplished hunters and had learned from experience not to go off unprepared. Bren even went as far as pu ng a small wood ax in his belt.

It took longer than they thought it would to reach the ridge. When they finally got there they were almost disappointed not to see hoards of kobles

and wood trolls gathering on the other side. What they found was a small valley, very small compared to Prominence Valley. The dense forest con nued down the steep terrain to the valley’s floor some three hundred yards below them. There, a small stream could be seen through the treetops winding its way down the hill.

Not far below them, the trees gave way to a rocky outcropping that looked interes ng. Without a thought, March started down toward it with only a smiling glance back at Bren’s hesita on.

Swallowing his nervousness, Bren hurried to catch up. He nearly tumbled over his feet as the steepness of the slope was revealed. By the me he reached March’s side, he was out of breath, and more than a li le worried.

It only took them a few minutes to get to what turned out to be a flat shelf of rock that protruded out over the tree tops. On either side of the shelf, the trees and the undergrowth were as thick as thieves at a fes val, but for this one small area, about a hundred paces wide, the rocks prevailed.

March eased out to the edge to look down at what he was sure would be a cliff like plummet into the sea of tree tops below. Bren stayed back and nervously waited for March to tell him what he saw. A er a few moments, March stopped his cau ous approach. He then pulled the rope he was carrying back over his head and began uncoiling it.

“I’m going all the way out to the edge to look.” March looked excitedly back at Bren then threw him one end of the rope. “Hold this in case I slip. I don’t want to go all the way over.”

“Here I was worried about you leaving,” Bren joked sheepishly. “You’ll not live to set foot out of Prominence Valley.”

March grinned as he ed his end of the rope around his waist. “You’re a bald-eyed giboon, Bren,” March laughed. “We're not even in Prominence Valley anymore.”

“Oh. Yeh.” Bren swallowed hard, remembering that they were also beyond the kingdom’s boundary.

“Now come on, gibber lips,” March chided. “The ropes not long enough for you to stay way up there.”

Bren eased close enough so that March could lean out over the edge. He found a depression in the rock where he could dig in his heels and create leverage if it became necessary. When he saw March get to his belly and began crawling out, he dug in any way.

“Don’t fall, March!” Bren yelled out as his daring friend got to the edge and looked over. “What is it? What do you see?” His curiosity was drowning his concern.

March quickly scooted back and stood up. A giant smile had spread across his face. When he saw how eager Bren was to know what he’d seen he purposely kept from saying anything.

“Come on, March. Spit it out!” Bren yelled. “Just tell me!”

“There’s a cave down there!” March was beaming. “A big ole cave!”

“You wanted to go on an adventure, sad sack. Let’s go on one!” March said moving back up the hill on one side of the rocky shelf. “There’s a way down over here,” he pointed.

Bren quickly pulled all the slack out of the rope and nearly yanked March off of his feet. Between laughs he said, “At least—un e yourself first, you

big giboon!”

March blushed realizing that in his rush to get down to the cave he had completely forgo en that he had a rope ed to his waist. He gave his end a good yank, pulling it free from Bren’s hands. He yanked it hard enough to give Bren a burn in his palms. Even though he was the one laughing now, it took him only seconds to un e himself. He coiled the rope back up quickly, and then shouldered it.

The descent proved to be tedious. The ground was loose and rocky, and the trees were in all the wrong places. They ended up going away from the shelf, out into the forest where the grade seemed a li le be er. They had to backtrack twice and ended up going too far down slope. When they finally realized this, the cave was above them, looming up the slope like a hungry maw. Climbing back up to it, they began to feel the humidity of the forest. The sun was directly overhead now. The trees shaded the ground well, but the canopy was so thick that it held in the ground moisture. It wasn’t long before both of the boys’ woolen shirts and leather pants were soaked with sweat. To make ma ers worse there was no breeze to be felt at all. The trees kept it from reaching them.

The dark mouth of the cave grew as they approached it. They could see that it was deep. What hid in those depths was the mystery. The only thing about the hole that was invi ng was the knowledge that inside the cavern they could cool off and take a short rest.

The natural opening was easily ten paces wide and half again that tall. The rock forma on seemed out of place si ng there by itself in the middle of the dense forested greenery. Sca ered here and there up along the cliff-like face were clumps of mossy growth and a few patches of vines that bloomed with brilliantly colored li le blue and yellow flowers.

March didn’t hesitate. Just inside, out of the sun, he plopped down on a piece of rock and began rummaging through his pack for food and water.

Bren joined him, already sipping from the deer skin canteen he carried at his hip. Both were winded from the climb back up to the cavern so neither spoke for a long while. They ate and sipped cool water and let their bodies rejuvenate. All the while the endless possibili es of what could be hiding down in the cavern kept culmina ng in their imagina ons.

A er a while Bren whispered, “I wonder how far back it goes?”

“We’ll find out soon enough, won't we?” March laughed confidently. “Why are you whispering?”

“This is a big cave,” Bren answered seriously, his voice s ll a whisper.

“Something big could live back there.”

March hadn’t thought of that. His mind began to race through all the creatures he knew of that were big enough to do them harm. He turned to Bren dropping his tone and volume to match his friends. “We’ll be quiet and go really slow.” He turned back and peered into the darkness of the tunnel-like sha that the cavern formed. He couldn’t see very far at all.

“We’ll have to make a torch.”

March stood and began looking around the lighted part of the cave. He found a length of dried wood as big around as his thigh, and a er feeling its weight, he quickly discarded it. Bren was rummaging through his belt pack so March headed back out into the woods to seek out a be er prospect. He returned with a piece of green wood nearly four feet long and about as big around as his wrist. It was heavy but it would be handy as a club if the need arose. He no ced that Bren had strung his bow and had moved his quiver of arrows from his back to his hip.

He’d never tell Bren, because it would swell up his friend’s melon head, but he thought that Bren was the best archer he’d ever seen. The thought was comfor ng. He’d once seen Bren shoot a gobbler out of the air. Bren had fired two arrows in rapid succession and both had hit their mark. It was improbable to have hit a bird in flight even once. Bren had hit it twice back to back, and with lightning speed. March was sure that Bren hadn’t been lying when he had said that the white stag had been lucky.