Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 by John D. Brown Page B

right now how she can bring her tribe back to power. Although she still could trade us to win some concession from the Orange Slayers. My bet is the warrior dies, and we end up having our eyes plucked out. But this is enough talk. We need to eat and sleep while we have the chance. Who knows what the next hour might bring?”
    Food sounded mighty good to Talen. He’d been hungry for hours. The woodikin had searched their packs, keeping their weapons, the Book, the other weaves, and wurm egg, but they had returned their food and bedding. They had also supplied them with a large wooden jug of the tree water. Harnock opened the jug and began to drink. River pulled weevil out of a pack.
    As River handed him his portion, their fingers brushed, and he smelled her soul. He sighed and took the grubs from her. His thirst was still raging, but he popped one of the weevil in his mouth and chewed. He was surprised how much better they tasted the second time. Or maybe they tasted the same, but he was just that much more hungry.
    Harnock passed the jug to him, and Talen took a long drink of the sappy water. They continued to pass the water and weevil until the jug of tree water was dry and their supplies of grub were mostly gone. The meal didn’t totally slake his hunger and thirst, but it was enough. He lay back on the wooden floor and looked out the small window. River settled up against the wall. Harnock lay on his side and draped an arm over one pack.
    The sound of the tanglewood about them came in through the windows. In the distance, there was music and squeals of delight, hoots, and drums. He looked out and saw, through the tanglewood limbs above, the first stars appearing in the evening sky.
    He turned on his side and soon fell into that relaxation that comes before full sleep. While he still wanted River to weave him a governor, he felt much more in control of his Fire. Weeks ago, it had responded clumsily. Now, except for the effects of the king’s collar earlier, he could multiply and diminish now almost as easily as he could raise and lower his arm. He lowered his Fire so it was only slightly elevated, which would help him recover during sleep.
    As he relaxed, he smelled the soul and Fire in River and Harnock. Running with the woodikin, he’d been frightened and stressed, and hadn’t paid those senses much attention. But now, with the three of them packed into the small hut, the scent filled the place.
    Talen scooted as far away from both of them as he could and tried to think of other things. He thought of the wonders he’d seen today among the woodikin. The wurms, the orange skir, and the attack on his roamling. He wished Nettle were whole so he could tell him all.
    An insect flew in, buzzed around the small hut twice, then flew back out. And Talen’s mind drifted to River and Harnock and the tempting smell of their souls.
    Da had always said that when you ran from your fears, you only gave them power. So he wasn’t going to run. He had to face them. But not here. There was a whole tanglewood to explore. He breathed out and released his roamlings from his wrists and entered the yellow world.
    The room looked different, felt different. He could feel the life in the wood, smell its soul and Fire. He tested the floor and walls, probed them, and found the wood wasn’t solid. However, no matter how he pushed, the Fire in the wood seemed to elude him. He explored the hut a moment more, then floated over River and looked down upon her. He looked down upon Harnock with another roamling, which shone with a faint luminescence.
    Talen moved his roamlings closer to Harnock. He felt the life beneath the fur and skin. There was a pattern to it all. An urge to touch it swelled in him. Maybe if he was careful—he brushed against Harnock, and his desire for Harnock’s soul rose. He told himself he should pull back, but he followed Harnock’s pattern instead. It was said all living things were weaves, and he could now see it was