The Land's Whisper by Monica Lee Kennedy Page A

friends; the night,
for rejoicing with them. The visnati lived every day doing what
they loved and with the people they loved. Their life seemed to
draw out all the beautiful aspects of his life in Alatrice, while
abandoning the loneliness, politics, and toil. He breathed more
fully every day.
    ~
    Brenol’s laugh rang out merrily, accompanied
in a breath by a chorus of shouts and whoops. Darse glanced up from
peeling potatoes, face beginning to stretch into a grin, to
determine the cause for the boy’s mirth.
    Brenol had joined a party of children in the
space of lawn beside the work tables, and all crouched in a ring,
immersed in a game. The youth towered over the tiny figures, but
each body crowded and pressed forward with equal excitement. Darse
smiled at the evident eagerness of the group. A dark haired boy,
likely Brenol’s age, stood suddenly in the center. He tipped
several small objects from his hand and sent them rolling within
the circle with an exaggerated swipe. Every face leaned in, and
laughter rocked their frames as the boy hollered in
frustration.
    “Prags,” a voice explained genially.
    Darse looked to his side. A round, coppered
face beamed good naturedly at him. It was a visnat he had seen
before, but only in passing. His most prominent feature was a pair
of extremely furry eyebrows. They were brown and jumped with every
expression.
    “Prags,” the visnat repeated. “The game. The
kids love it. In another moon they will play something else, but
for now, it is prags and only prags at every chance.”
    Darse laughed. “We don’t have that one on
Alatrice, I think. But I know the behavior.” He glanced again to
Brenol, whose back was to him now.
    “I’m Tirol.”
    Darse dipped his head in friendly
acknowledgment. “Darse.”
    Tirol settled himself at the table across
from Darse and collected a knife, joining in the peeling. “You’ve
been here a septspan?”
    “A little over,” Darse replied, returning to
task.
    “Bren fits in well here,” Tirol commented.
“He learns quickly.”
    “He likes Coltair. That much is
evident.”
    They both raised their vision to the
laughing children, suddenly aroar.
    “Are you planning to stay long?” Tirol
asked.
    Darse shrugged his shoulders. “I do not
know. I’m trying to find a way to get Bren back through the
portal.” He sighed quietly, potato and knife forgotten in his
hands.
    Tirol nodded. “I’ve never heard of an
allowance, but the maralane are not impossible.”
    “No?” Darse said, flickering awake with
hope.
    “Different, but not impossible.” Tirol
smiled. “They may not be interested in the little things about us,
but they are for Massada. That is what motivates them.”
    Darse considered his words silently.
    “If you do stay, in several moons we have
Velsfest. It’s our big celebration. Tents, lights, drinks, food,
games.” He jutted his chin in Brenol’s direction. “Bren would like
it. Every girl and boy likes it.” He grinned, revealing a crooked
and happy smile. “I like it.”
    Darse returned the gesture. “Perhaps. I have
no idea what I’m doing right now.”
    “What made you come?” Tirol asked
curiously.
    “Well, my da told me stories. But he also
made me promise to come and see Massada at least once.”
    “Are you finding what you expected?”
    Darse looked around, pondering the new life
he had discovered in such a brief time. It was difficult to assume
this could continue, but even still, the holiday was appreciated.
“I can’t say I knew what to expect.”
    Tirol plopped his peeled potato into the
pail and stood with gusto. “Well, that’s because you didn’t know
about prags. Here in Coltair it is prags and only prags! Come,
come! I will teach you.”
    Darse laughed, setting his own potato and
knife down. “Prags it is,” he replied and marched obediently after
his new instructor to join the rambunctious circle of children.
    ~
    It was about two septspan into their stay
when Colvin rounded out of the