Handstand

“Do it again.”

Larten scowled and picked himself up off the forest floor. Flicking twigs and moss from his hair and clothes, he climbed the tall tree and edged out along a branch the width of his wrist. When he got as far as he could standing up, he bent, gripped the branch with his hands, and kicked his feet into the air. It took him a few seconds to find his balance. Once he was steady, he walked out farther on his hands.

“Stop,” Seba said as the branch creaked and bowed from the weight. He was sitting higher up in the tree, chewing a bone. Wester was at the end of another branch, balanced on his hands like Larten.

Larten stared at the ground, feeling sweat trickle along his neck. Seba watched for a while, still chewing. Then, without warning, he tossed the bone in Larten’s direction, but a couple of feet beyond the branch on which the young vampire was precariously perched.

“Catch it!” Seba barked.

Larten’s left hand shot out, and his fingers clutched for the bone. He almost made contact, but as had happened sixteen times already, his right hand shook wildly, he lost his balance, and he fell with a startled cry, hitting the earth not long after the bone.

***

The Saga of Larten Crepsley: Birth of a Killer, Chapter 19