The Dark Thorn Read Online Free Page B

the knight whispered. “What are you doing?”
    As if hearing Richard, Bran paused, head tilted like a wolf catching a scent.
    And then disappeared.
    Richard blinked in shock. He pressed himself into obscurity, unsure of what had just happened. One moment Bran had been in clear sight.
    The next, the boy had vanished.
    Long minutes passed.
    Richard peered deeper into the gloom where Bran had last stood. Two buildings sat next to one another. No alley existed between them, no doorway he could discern. Nothing presented itself.
    The knight was about to investigate when movement stopped him. Two police officers walked out of an alleyway farther down from where Bran had vanished. They were young men, new to the force, Richard wagered, placed on night shift in one of the darkest parts of Seattle. They spoke in hushed tones as they passed where Bran had been and beyond where Richard hid, laughing at some shared joke before entering the next block.
    After the cops had strolled on, Bran reappeared as if by magic and traveled on.
    Richard frowned, curious, and approached the spot where the boy had disappeared. A gap not a foot wide separated the two buildings, a tiny enough space for Bran to hide from the police.
    Smart lad , Richard thought.
    The knight followed anew, knowing to be more careful. Richard had never seen Bran in Seattle but the boy knew the Bricks well. Bran had to have come from the derelict and disenfranchised part of a different city.
    The Bricks changed, became darker, the distance between the street lamps increasing even as the buildings fell into greater disrepair. Richard kept alert. Pioneer Square could hide any number of evils and become a dangerous wild creature if one was not careful once the sun had gone down. Bran did not seem to mind the change, never deviating from his direct path, and he crossed into an empty parking lot where two buildings joined to form a bordering ell.
    An orange light glowed ahead, fighting against the night.
    Richard slowed and angled to get a better view. At the base where the two buildings met, a small fire flickered lowly. Specters in ragged clothing huddled around it, unmoving, stealing the flaming light and its warmth. The scene was muted like a cemetery in winter.
    Bran walked straight toward the group.
    Richard hung back.
    The boy approached without hesitancy. He was only a few feet from them before a gaunt man turned, the hint of a downtrodden soul peering from black eyes that lit up in greeting. Then the others turned—two bearded older men, a stringy-haired blonde woman with palsied hands that shook like Walker’s, and a round black man—and all welcomed Bran with smiles and warm words.
    Richard frowned. He did not know these particular homeless.
    Bran unslung his pack, withdrew tinfoil-wrapped objects that glinted in the weak firelight, and tossed them to the group. Some of the homeless tore into their offering; a few came over and patted Bran on the back first.
    It could only be one thing, Richard thought.
    Food.
    Bran sat with them for a few minutes, embracing their reverence and the fire, before saying his farewells and leaving. Richard sank back into his shadows; he was unwilling to confront the boy just yet. The streets were tough and he didn’t know enough about Bran. The harsh conditions forced homeless men and women to form bonds of kinship out of a necessity to survive. Despite Richard choosing to live a life alone, he still relied on others like Al and Walker, people who—like him—endured through collective companionship. The knight found it curious that Bran, at such a young age, had developed such selfless responsibility for others.
    It meant the lad had been on the streets a long time and knew these people well before joining Merle at Old World Tales.
    Bran walked through the gloom as he had before, furtively careful. He did not return the way he had come. Richard watched him take a corner on the far side of the lot and disappear, on his way to a