Chapter 7: The Dark CloudDay 5, There, the third day on the river.
“Look into this pool, where the water is still,” Owen said the next morning as they put the last of their things in the boat.
Fletcher looked down to see his watery reflection. “My hair. One white streak—I look like a red-haired skunk,” Fletcher said. He touched the white from where it started at the line of his part to fall on his forehead.
“The dead touched you, remember? Store the last of our stuff and then come take a turn at the helm. That streak actually looks attractive. What is a skunk?”
“Thanks.” He wondered if Sam would think so. At the helm, he could feel the boat humming through the water, the sail full, the wind at his back. He wanted to take Sam sailing.
“Skunk?”
Fletcher explained. “They’re little anima
