Chapter Forty-TwoKiera stood at the window, but she wasn’t looking out at the garden; her eyes were closed. Behind her the kitchen lay in darkness and in front of her was Patrick’s garden, silent beneath the moonlight.
Silent, that is, unless you could really listen. An intent listener might pick up on the scurry of paws as a fox, startled by a shadow in the hedgerow, increased its pace across the back of the garden. An intent listener would hear the rustle of leaves in the chill night breeze, or perhaps pick up on the distant hoot of an owl.
With her eyes closed, Kiera was aware of all of these things, and more, but not because she was listening—not with her ears, anyway. It was more of an awareness, a conversation that she had learnt, through her meditation, to have with the world arou
