Solma stands under the oak, careful not to disturb Addie’s butterflies. They hang limp and lackluster, wings rustling in the mid-morning breeze. Tobias’ holly blues have come to join them, settling on the trunk next to the oak and falling into a stupor, as if, without their Keeper’s energy to direct them, they’ve forgotten how to live.
Solma throws a scowl towards the tents, where the four remaining Keeper children and Warren sit cross-legged around Bell’s meagre cooking fire, quietly eating breakfast.
Bell had arrived as the sun peeked over the treetops, still gripping her rolling pin as she ushered Warren and Yennevieve into the glade and turned to berate Ig for being so slow. Uncharacteristically, she’d hugged Solma without so much as a cross word and Solma felt a tightness in her thr
