great dam today. Why didn't I think of that before? Thanks! Bye!'
She waved; hopped down from the chair; dragged it back down to its usual place at the end of the corridor; then raced off.
Chapter 11
That winter passed slowly, with only Faith to play with, and Godsson to chat to just for fun. Chats with her uncle always seemed to turn into lessons.
Apart from Mr Shanahan, everyone except Sara preferred to stay warm inside. Even the security officer stayed mainly in his small house, set off to one side and behind the bigger, sprawling building. She was the only person who spent the better part of each day outside, most of it with Faith.
Best of all was when it snowed, since then there were snow tunnels and snowmen to build. She always built two or three, since that way they could all talk and she could pretend they were real. It was nice being able to make new friends. The first one always got to help her decide who to make next, and got to suggest names for them, and help decide whether each would be a boy or a girl.
Except it was awful sad when they melted. It was almost enough to stop her making them.
Almost.
She didn't tell Uncle, though. Somehow, she just knew he wouldn't approve. And he'd probably do his stupid wiggly-finger thing and then give her a lecture.
The snow was also great for following tracks. They were like story books written in a secret language that showed where the animals lived, and drank, and ate.
She'd also learned that her arrows, even now she'd removed the dumb cups, didn't really hurt the animals. She'd looked on the net and found out you needed wicked-looking metal tips to do that. She wasn't sure she wanted them, though. She was kind of glad when her uncle said he wouldn't buy any for her. It meant she only scared the animals – or made them cross! – when she shot them.
Also when it snowed she could drag a sled – another gift from her uncle! – up the gentle hills in the Institute grounds to whoosh back down. She could do that for hours. Warmly clad, she'd play outside for most of the day. That was another good thing about being here. Her uncle wasn't as strict as the nuns had been in making her do her net lessons as… they used to be.
It was on a crisp winter day, after Faith had been called away and she was by herself, that she first felt them: felt there were things invisible, around her. Not really watching her, just… doing their own stuff. Not even really aware of her.
She discovered that if she looked, though, she lost them.
But as the days passed and she practiced her not-looking, the more she started to see them. Well, not see them, exactly. More like, see or hear their shadows: how they affected the plants and stuff around them. Sometimes she saw their traces in the clouds; sometimes in the wind as it raced through the trees, bending their trunks or twisting and dancing in their branches. Sometimes they flowed softly and gently over the trees and through them, stroking their leaves and petting their trunks, sliding up and around the rough silvery bark, rubbing and scratching themselves against those slow and patient warriors and wardens.
She realized these must be the invisible spirits that her uncle had told her lived in the Forest.
Sometimes, when they were playful, she danced and played with them. She'd pretend they could see her, and were dancing with her. And she'd spin and twist alongside them till she was dizzy; leaping and tumbling and even touching them, imagining their surprise as her fingers shivered over them, while they flowed and coiled around her in turn. And then they'd leap and race and dance together, swooping down the green pathways that tunneled between tall trunks, kissing and brushing over the feathery outstretched fronds of fern or the green-budding leaves, until finally they'd gyre up into the trees to leave her laughing below, breathless and excited, blowing a farewell wish.
Once
She waved; hopped down from the chair; dragged it back down to its usual place at the end of the corridor; then raced off.
Chapter 11
That winter passed slowly, with only Faith to play with, and Godsson to chat to just for fun. Chats with her uncle always seemed to turn into lessons.
Apart from Mr Shanahan, everyone except Sara preferred to stay warm inside. Even the security officer stayed mainly in his small house, set off to one side and behind the bigger, sprawling building. She was the only person who spent the better part of each day outside, most of it with Faith.
Best of all was when it snowed, since then there were snow tunnels and snowmen to build. She always built two or three, since that way they could all talk and she could pretend they were real. It was nice being able to make new friends. The first one always got to help her decide who to make next, and got to suggest names for them, and help decide whether each would be a boy or a girl.
Except it was awful sad when they melted. It was almost enough to stop her making them.
Almost.
She didn't tell Uncle, though. Somehow, she just knew he wouldn't approve. And he'd probably do his stupid wiggly-finger thing and then give her a lecture.
The snow was also great for following tracks. They were like story books written in a secret language that showed where the animals lived, and drank, and ate.
She'd also learned that her arrows, even now she'd removed the dumb cups, didn't really hurt the animals. She'd looked on the net and found out you needed wicked-looking metal tips to do that. She wasn't sure she wanted them, though. She was kind of glad when her uncle said he wouldn't buy any for her. It meant she only scared the animals – or made them cross! – when she shot them.
Also when it snowed she could drag a sled – another gift from her uncle! – up the gentle hills in the Institute grounds to whoosh back down. She could do that for hours. Warmly clad, she'd play outside for most of the day. That was another good thing about being here. Her uncle wasn't as strict as the nuns had been in making her do her net lessons as… they used to be.
It was on a crisp winter day, after Faith had been called away and she was by herself, that she first felt them: felt there were things invisible, around her. Not really watching her, just… doing their own stuff. Not even really aware of her.
She discovered that if she looked, though, she lost them.
But as the days passed and she practiced her not-looking, the more she started to see them. Well, not see them, exactly. More like, see or hear their shadows: how they affected the plants and stuff around them. Sometimes she saw their traces in the clouds; sometimes in the wind as it raced through the trees, bending their trunks or twisting and dancing in their branches. Sometimes they flowed softly and gently over the trees and through them, stroking their leaves and petting their trunks, sliding up and around the rough silvery bark, rubbing and scratching themselves against those slow and patient warriors and wardens.
She realized these must be the invisible spirits that her uncle had told her lived in the Forest.
Sometimes, when they were playful, she danced and played with them. She'd pretend they could see her, and were dancing with her. And she'd spin and twist alongside them till she was dizzy; leaping and tumbling and even touching them, imagining their surprise as her fingers shivered over them, while they flowed and coiled around her in turn. And then they'd leap and race and dance together, swooping down the green pathways that tunneled between tall trunks, kissing and brushing over the feathery outstretched fronds of fern or the green-budding leaves, until finally they'd gyre up into the trees to leave her laughing below, breathless and excited, blowing a farewell wish.
Once
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