Tracked Down 2Toby was just one and a half millimeters tall, not exactly big for a boy of his age. Only his toes were sticking out of the hole in the bark where he was hiding. Looking up through the enormous russet-colored leaves to the starry sky above, Toby felt there had never been a night as dark and shiny as this one. When there's no moon, the stars dance more brightly. Even if there is a sky in Heaven, he told himself, it couldn't possibly be as deep or as magical as this. Toby began to calm down. Lying with his head resting on the moss, he could feel his hair wet with cold tears. He was tucked inside a hole in the black bark. His leg was injured, he had cuts on both shoulders, and his hair was matted with blood. His hands were stinging from being ripped by thorns, but the rest of his tiny body was numb with pain and exhaustion. His life had ended a few hours earlier, so what was he still doing here? That's what people used to ask him, when he poked his nose in everywhere: "Still here, Toby?" Today, he kept whispering it to himself: "Still here?" But he was definitely alive, and his misery was even vaster than the sky. He was staring at the sky in the same way he used to cling to his parents' hands in a crowd. If I close my eyes, he thought, I'll die. But his eyes stayed wide open, behind two lakes of muddy tears. Then he heard them. And in a flash the fear was back. There were four of them: three adults and a teenager. The teenager was holding a torch to light their way. "He can't be far. I'm sure he's not far." "He must be caught. He has to pay too. Like his parents." The eyes of the third man shone yellow in the night. He spat, then said, "We'll get him, you'll see, and we'll make him pay." More than anything, Toby wanted to wake up from this nightmare; he wanted to run over to his parents' bed, and cry and cry....He would have given anything to go through to their bright kitchen together, still in his pajamas, where they'd make him a hot honey drink with cookies and say, "It's over now, Toby sweetheart. It's all right." Instead, Toby was trembling at the bottom of a hole, trying to tuck in his sticky-out toes. Toby was only thirteen, but he was being hunted by the whole Tree, by his own people, and what he could hear was much worse than the cold, scary night. What he could hear was a voice he loved, the voice of his oldest friend, Leo Blue. Once, when he was four and a half, Leo had tried to steal Toby's lunch, and they'd ended up sharing everything ever since - good things and things that weren't so funny. Leo lived with his aunt. Both his parents had died. All he had left of his father, the famous explorer El Blue, was a wooden boomerang. But his misfortune had made Leo Blue very strong, deep down inside. This brought out the best in him, and the worst too. Toby preferred the best: Leo's intelligence and bravery. The boys became inseparable. There was a time when people even called them Tobyleo, as if it was just one name. One day, when Toby and his parents were due to move house, down to the Low Branches, Tobyleo hid in a dry bud because they didn't want to be split up. It was two days and three nights before they were found. It was one of the rare occasions when Toby saw his father cry. But tonight, Toby was curled up alone in his bark hole - was this really the same Leo Blue standing just a few paces away, brandishing his flare against the dark? Toby felt his heart exploding when his best friend shouted, "We'll get you! We'll get you, Toby!" Leo's voice rang out from branch to branch. It brought back a vivid memory. When he was tiny, Toby had had a tame greenfly called Lima. Toby used to climb on Lima's back, before he could even walk. One day, out of nowhere, the greenfly stopped playing - it bit Toby hard and shook him like Excerpted from Toby Alone by Timothee de Fombelle All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
