Read Lending Light (Gives Light Series Book 5) for Free Online Page B

apart with its claws.  The coral snake bled clear yellow on the grass.
    "Come on, Raf," Uncle Gabriel said cheerfully.
    Uncle Gabriel took the dirt road out east, passing the stone water well.  I followed him, my spear in my hand.  I felt a line crease my forehead when I frowned.  Uncle Gabriel had been awfully young when he'd taken Mary and me in: twenty years old and raising two small kids, his only other relative a thousand miles away.  I was seventeen, and I couldn't imagine becoming a parent in the next three years.  I couldn't imagine becoming a parent at all.  I'd probably wind up hurting my children without meaning to.  Uncle Gabriel had inherited two kids when he was just a kid himself.  Mary and I had effectively destroyed what were supposed to be the best years of his life.  He'd never complained.  He'd never once let on that we were exhausting him, that we weren't the dream he'd envisioned for himself.  My uncle, I thought, feeling tired and sad, had sacrificed as much for us as the elk had.  But more.  A lot more.
    We entered the woods and veered off the path.  We started north, Andrew Nabako trailing at the back of our train.  The beech trees stretched so tall they fought the sun for dominion in the sky, tri-colored leaves painting the ground in green and white and pink.  The trunks forked in two's and three's, reminding me of many-armed Hindu gods.  Lizards and bullfrogs scampered across the floor, the lizards looking for caterpillars, the frogs looking for the lake.
    The darkness in the back of my head crept into the front of my eyes.  Everything went black, so black that I couldn't see.  I could hear Uncle Gabriel rustling through the forest brush ahead of me and it reassured me, but made me feel worse, because I didn't want to depend on him all the time.  I pretended it was nighttime.  Imaginary stars blazed to life in the sky.  The constellations clustered together, forming buffalo and prairies.  I watched star-hewn hunters on horseback chase stampeding bison, wheatgrass quaking with dust.
    "This way," Stuart said hoarsely, lit up by pretend moonlight.
    The hunting party crossed the brook.  We took a sharp turn to the right, skirting around the clearing where amsonia grew, powder-blue flowers shaped like five-pointed stars.  I imagined that the floral stars lifted off the ground on an airless breeze and joined their counterparts in the sky.  We hiked up a steep arroyo, thankfully dry, although it wouldn't be come monsoon season.  Uncle Gabriel gestured with two fingers and the four of us scattered.  I hid behind a knotted willow tree with leafless, spiky branches.
    Any hunter who says he's got a 100% success rate is full of shit.  Even the best hunters only get the kill half the time; and that's why we had to hunt every single morning if we wanted to bring back enough yield for our neighbors.  That day's hunt was a good one, though.  Andrew was our caller.  He bugled, and the bulls bellowed back, and we crept east, hiding in the silvery sagebrush while he cow-called until a bull tiptoed toward us, new antlers covered in fuzzy velvet.  I stood up.  The spear shot out of my hands like water through a mesh net.  The elk ran, but the spear struck him just west of his hind flank.  He went down.  It was a fast kill, a humane one, the artery severed before he could have known what hit him.  If there's pain, you're not doing it right.
    The bull was maybe six hundred pounds.  Uncle Gabe cut the yield with his handsaw and we each wound up with a heavy quarter.  We let the blood drain out through the incisions before we picked up the meat, careful not to stain the pelt.  I tossed my haunch over my shoulder and almost buckled under the weight.
    "Who are we delivering to today?" Stuart asked.
    "Thorn Bush and Begaye, Samson and Brandywood," Uncle Gabe said spiritedly.
    We carried the elk out of the woods.  My shoulders hurt, but in a good way, like when you know you've done