168

Cara couldn't believe that anyone would want to kill her secret friend, but she heard the travelers talking and knew from the description of the lanky boy they meant none other than Jon.  It was two hours before she could get away from the inn to warn him, and by then it was too late.

The strange trio of men were staying at Old Fell Inn where Cara's grandfather, Old Fell himself, ran the family business.  Cara was young and was only allowed menial chores, but her grandfather was adamant that all were done and inspected before allowing her leave.  Normally, this was an arrangement that suited Cara quite well because Old Fell did not concern himself with her once work was satisfactorily complete, but today, waiting for the inspection took too long.  "Why do you have worms in your shoes, Cara?" Old Fell asked, noticing her dancing feet.  She could not say because she was not supposed to have friends her grandfather did not yet meet.

When she was finally free, Cara ran for the oak tree under which she regularly found Jon, but her steps slowed and became weighted when she saw the three men approaching, mud and something darker than mud on their rich clothes and soft hands.

164

Nobody ever called him "Slow John" to his face, but that's what they called him every other time.  He was, after all, just a boy, and it hurts to be labeled.  Miranda was sure he knew about the nickname, though, and, further, that he wasn't nearly as slow as he seemed.  He was, as her friend Rachel whispered, mysterious.