FREYA
My heart races as I walk towards the door and watch from the windows as her figure blends with the darkness of the night.
Where could she be going at a time like this and leaving so carefully?
I do not let myself ponder over it when I can find out myself and I go after her.
By the time I have eased the side door open behind her, she is already across the kitchen garden, a dark shape moving fast along the wall toward the break in the hedge that opens onto the eastern road, and every year papa ever spent teaching me how to move with stealth comes up in my body at once.
I keep low. I keep to the soft ground at the edge of the path where my feet make no sound. I read the wind first, the way he taught me before anything else, and it is coming down into my face, carrying my scent ba
