❝Shae Burrower, failed author and city girl, from Lavender Lane, at your service.❞
⎯⎯⎯
The story contained within these pages is not about me.
You all know of whom I write. If not by word of mouth or by the speculation of the Chileez Times, then by...
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"Tier-kin! You have been gone too long! Why are you hiding in the canopies like a taneapie?"
There was a whistle, slicing through my much-abused ears with a sharp, clear cut.
Coming out from her hiding place, I held still as I saw the speaker, taking note of her appearance and keeping track of all the little details.
Her hair was brown, tied back from her face, her green eyes piercing as it contrasted with the brown of her clothes. They were form-fitting, covered by a mottled green cloak. Her hand held a spear; her back carried a bow and quiver.
"You never travel with others. Who is this?" Her hand gestured towards me, a string of wooden beads sliding up on her wrist. "Your soul-partner?"
Seilg-noot. Soul partner. Similar to what is commonly deemed a spouse, but bound by the Hands of the Untameable through one of his Holy People.
A native of Hanochk would know not to ask that question— soul partners were rare. It was not like a soulmate, fated to be together. It was a choice. Who would cleave their souls together when they weren't certain they'd stay together?
Well, my parents did. And the monarchs were supposed to.
"No." Lennon T. James stepped aside, no longer shielding me from her. He'd answered in the Common Tongue.
She nodded her head and switched too. Her words were a bit slower, spoken with an accent that incorporated rolling r's and harsher consonants and long vowels.
"We caught some people this morning. They were brought to the village. I assume they're with you?"
He nodded. He changed topics with no regard to the current conversation. "Let see where the spira are. I do not like having them behind us."
Kita nodded. "Careful. The taneapies are flocking to this side of the jungle. They flee the bomdir."
I pretended to know what they spoke of, and did not ask any questions.
Lennon T. James tipped his chin in acknowledgement of her words, gaze darting here and there, never settling on anything.
Then he started walking back, saying over his shoulder: "Protect Shae if you have to."
Without a goodbye or any social nicety that would communicate a speedy return, or reassure me of my safety with a stranger, he left me behind.
I almost started to follow him.
I turned back to the stranger. Beneath the disguise, it was hard to determine how old she was, but something about her speech made me assume she was near my age.
"You have travelled long?" Her question pulled me from my observations.
I nodded, my eyes lingering on the arrows peeking over her shoulder. "Yes. I am not used to it."
