Messenger by Lois Lowry Page B

to tack the messages in place. Now he had just enough time to rest, which he badly needed to do, collect food for the return journey, and persuade Kira to come with him. If they moved steadily and without interruption through Forest (though he knew it would be slower with the girl, who had to lean on her stick) they would arrive in time.
    Matty blinked, took a deep breath, got to his feet, and hurried on to the small cottage around the next turning, the place where Kira lived.
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    The gardens were larger than he remembered; since his last visit almost two years before, she had expanded them, he saw. Thick clumps of yellow and deep pink flowers fringed the edge of the small dwelling with its hand-hewn beams and thatched roof. Matty had never paid attention to the names of flowers—boys generally disdained such things—but now he wished he knew them, so that he could tell Jean.
    Frolic went to the base of a wooden post that was entwined with a purple-blossomed vine, and lifted his leg to proclaim his presence and authority here.
    The door to the cottage opened and Kira appeared there. She was wearing a blue dress and her long dark hair was tied back with a matching ribbon.
    â€œMatty!” she cried in delight.
    He grinned at her.
    â€œAnd you’ve got yourself a new pup! I hoped you would. You were so sad, I remember, after Branchie died.”
    â€œHis name is Frolic, and I’m afraid he’s watering your . . .”
    â€œClematis. It’s all right,” she said, laughing. She reached for Matty and embraced him. Ordinarily uncomfortable with hugs, he would have stiffened his shoulders and drawn back; but now, from exhaustion and affection, he held Kira and to his own amazement felt his eyes fill with tears. He blinked them back.
    â€œAll right, stand back now and let me see you,” she said. “Are you taller yet than I am?”
    He stood back grinning and saw that they were eye to eye.
    â€œSoon you will be. And your voice is almost a man’s.”
    â€œI can read Shakespeare,” he told her, swaggering.
    â€œHah! So can I!” she said, and he knew then for certain how changed this village was, for in the earlier days, girls had not been allowed to learn.
    â€œOh, Matty, I remember when you were such a tiny thing, and so wild!”
    â€œThe Fiercest of the Fierce!” he reminded her, and she smiled fondly at him.
    â€œYou must be very tired. And hungry! You’ve just made such a long journey. Come inside. I have soup on the fire. And I want news of my father.”
    He followed her into the familiar cottage and waited while she reached for her walking stick that leaned against a wall and arranged it under her right arm. Dragging the useless leg, she took a thick earthen bowl from a shelf and went to the fire where a large pot simmered and smelled of herbs and vegetables.
    Matty looked around. No wonder she had not wanted to leave this place. From the sturdy ceiling beams dangled the countless dried herbs and plants from which she made her dyes. Shelves on the wall were bright with rolls of yarn and thread arranged by color, white and palest yellow at one end, gradually deepening into blues and purples and then browns and grays at the other. On a threaded loom in the corner between two windows, a half-finished weaving pictured an intricate landscape of mountains, and he could see that she was now working on the sky and had woven in some feathery clouds of pink-tinged white.
    She set the bowl of steaming soup on the table in front of Matty and then went to the sink to pump water into a bowl for Frolic.
    â€œNow. Tell me of Father,” she asked. “He’s well?”
    â€œHe’s fine. He sends you his love.”
    He watched as Kira leaned her stick against the sink and knelt with difficulty to place the bowl on the floor. Then she called to Frolic, who was industriously chewing a broom in the corner.
    When the puppy had come to her and