to seek guidance from Teal. He told me he didn’t need another old fool whispering ignorant comments in his ear.”
“That sounds like Flint. He always hated to have people interfere when he was set on destroying himself.”
For all his strength and audacity, Flint had never figured out exactly what he wanted. He’d used Spirit Plants as much to fly away from himself as toward a Spirit Helper.
Sora flushed. Suddenly, she knew beyond a doubt where he was waiting for her. The one place, the one event, she would never forget. Her body wouldn’t let her.
Sora rose to her feet.
Wink said, “Are you going to give him another two days?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“I am not,” she protested.
Wink rolled her eyes. “If I were sure it was just Skinner who was interested in you, I’d tell you to go do what you’ve both always wanted to do. Just be discreet. I’ll protect you as best as I can.”
Wink was giving her that look , as though she could see straight to Sora’s adulterous heart.
But if anyone ever found out, the truth was that Wink would have no choice but to banish her. Sora responded, “I won’t need your protection, Wink, but thanks for offering it.”
Wink gave her a hard stare. “Don’t say that until you know for sure.”
“I do know for sure.”
Wink shrugged and looked away; then she said, “Before you go, there’s another matter I want to discuss with you. I’ve set the Healing Circle for tonight, just after sundown.”
“Does Touches Clouds suspect he’s being followed?”
“His uncles don’t think so. They’ve been very careful. Everything is prepared.”
Sora nodded and headed for the door.
Before she left, she said, “Come and get me when you’re ready.”
9
OLD TEAL STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE PLAZA FROWNING AT Sora as she walked westward toward the bluff. In his conical rain hat and cape, he looked oddly unreal. Toothless, bald, his back hunched from age, he might have been a walking skeleton rather than a living man. His face was all sharp angles, which gave his white-filmed eyes a hauntingly dead look.
He lifted a gnarled hand and beckoned for her to come to him. She pretended not to understand, waved, and climbed the trail to the bluff top. The last thing she wanted was to speak with him. Teal had a way of seeing into people’s souls. She was afraid he would see her guilty thoughts as plain as her face.
Light rain fell through the maple and oak trees. But for the steady hiss of drops, the world had gone quiet and still. Birds perched on the branches with their feathers fluffed out, and the insects had all crept beneath fallen leaves or into cracks in the bark to keep their wings dry.
When Sora came to the faint path that angled out into the moss-cloaked forest, she stopped. Tracks dimpled the sand. A man had walked here before the rain, yesterday probably.
Skinner?
Anxiously, she shoved aside the massive curtains of moss and wound along the path toward the meadow. The raindrops that beaded her cape reflected the rich green shades of the forest, giving the white feathers an emerald tint.
She ducked beneath the last whisker of moss and emerged at the edge of the palmetto-choked meadow. The fronds dipped and swayed in the rain. She hadn’t been here in four winters, but she remembered everything: the red clay hill at the opposite end of the meadow, the gray rocks, the giant sycamores that ringed the base of the hill.
She didn’t see anyone.
By the time she reached the sycamores, her feet were soaked and cold. The trail led straight up the face of the hill to the top, where a small ramada sheltered a fire pit. In the depths of winter, hunters often came here to keep an eye on the animals that wandered into the meadow.
She took a deep breath and climbed to the hilltop. The air was heavy with the scent of spring blossoms.
The ramada, four upright logs roofed with grass thatch, measured five by seven paces. The fire pit inside
“That sounds like Flint. He always hated to have people interfere when he was set on destroying himself.”
For all his strength and audacity, Flint had never figured out exactly what he wanted. He’d used Spirit Plants as much to fly away from himself as toward a Spirit Helper.
Sora flushed. Suddenly, she knew beyond a doubt where he was waiting for her. The one place, the one event, she would never forget. Her body wouldn’t let her.
Sora rose to her feet.
Wink said, “Are you going to give him another two days?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“I am not,” she protested.
Wink rolled her eyes. “If I were sure it was just Skinner who was interested in you, I’d tell you to go do what you’ve both always wanted to do. Just be discreet. I’ll protect you as best as I can.”
Wink was giving her that look , as though she could see straight to Sora’s adulterous heart.
But if anyone ever found out, the truth was that Wink would have no choice but to banish her. Sora responded, “I won’t need your protection, Wink, but thanks for offering it.”
Wink gave her a hard stare. “Don’t say that until you know for sure.”
“I do know for sure.”
Wink shrugged and looked away; then she said, “Before you go, there’s another matter I want to discuss with you. I’ve set the Healing Circle for tonight, just after sundown.”
“Does Touches Clouds suspect he’s being followed?”
“His uncles don’t think so. They’ve been very careful. Everything is prepared.”
Sora nodded and headed for the door.
Before she left, she said, “Come and get me when you’re ready.”
9
OLD TEAL STOOD AT THE EDGE OF THE PLAZA FROWNING AT Sora as she walked westward toward the bluff. In his conical rain hat and cape, he looked oddly unreal. Toothless, bald, his back hunched from age, he might have been a walking skeleton rather than a living man. His face was all sharp angles, which gave his white-filmed eyes a hauntingly dead look.
He lifted a gnarled hand and beckoned for her to come to him. She pretended not to understand, waved, and climbed the trail to the bluff top. The last thing she wanted was to speak with him. Teal had a way of seeing into people’s souls. She was afraid he would see her guilty thoughts as plain as her face.
Light rain fell through the maple and oak trees. But for the steady hiss of drops, the world had gone quiet and still. Birds perched on the branches with their feathers fluffed out, and the insects had all crept beneath fallen leaves or into cracks in the bark to keep their wings dry.
When Sora came to the faint path that angled out into the moss-cloaked forest, she stopped. Tracks dimpled the sand. A man had walked here before the rain, yesterday probably.
Skinner?
Anxiously, she shoved aside the massive curtains of moss and wound along the path toward the meadow. The raindrops that beaded her cape reflected the rich green shades of the forest, giving the white feathers an emerald tint.
She ducked beneath the last whisker of moss and emerged at the edge of the palmetto-choked meadow. The fronds dipped and swayed in the rain. She hadn’t been here in four winters, but she remembered everything: the red clay hill at the opposite end of the meadow, the gray rocks, the giant sycamores that ringed the base of the hill.
She didn’t see anyone.
By the time she reached the sycamores, her feet were soaked and cold. The trail led straight up the face of the hill to the top, where a small ramada sheltered a fire pit. In the depths of winter, hunters often came here to keep an eye on the animals that wandered into the meadow.
She took a deep breath and climbed to the hilltop. The air was heavy with the scent of spring blossoms.
The ramada, four upright logs roofed with grass thatch, measured five by seven paces. The fire pit inside
Similar Books
