Djordji, the gypsy boy Vaughan had struck, brought Milosh to Eira Gwyn’s house, as well as a young woman, who stood aside and said nothing when Syeira handed her the baby.
“Tsura recently gave birth,” Syeira said.
Tsura opened her blouse and put the baby to her breast. Roddy watched in fascination as rosebud lips latched on to a dusky n****e and suckled strongly.
Djordji knelt beside the limp body of the wolf, briefly stroking the black fur, then backed away so the big gypsy could carefully lift the wolf. The beast’s back had healed under the magic of the moonlight, and Milosh carried him out to the wise woman’s caravan.
Syeira fretted that he had not regained consciousness. “That blow to his head, that worries me,” she confided.
“Where will you take him, Grandmother?”
“He cannot rem
