THE SAPPY LEAVES THAT Oren wrapped around Nahtaia’s feet were torn before the end of the day. While he was off looking for another den or shelter for the night, she peeled away the remains as Kale looked on. The sap was hard and crusted, tickling her with every attempt to remove it, but they did what Oren claimed they would. Her cuts were already healing and the pain was gone, for the most part.
The air was still and the sounds of birds startled the pair with every chirp or caw. Shadows spread over the gray outstretched fingers of the trees that played with the eyes of the small people on the ground. Nahtaia found herself secretly hoping for Oren to hurry and return. After all, he was the one with the weapons.
“What do you intend on telling the Voices—assuming you do find them?” Kale ask
