Monday, July 11, 2011

Chapter 11: A Rebellious Imagination

By the time Spirit and Elissay stepped into camp, the other elves were already gathered around the cheerfully blazing fire. The six pigeons lay on a spit over the fire, sizzling softly in the background. Spirit took a deep breath of the cool, dry air, savoring the smoky tinge of dinner.
The sun had all but disappeared beneath the horizon, throwing bright strips of red and orange high into the night sky like streamers on a festival day. The prairie grass shone orange in the dusky glow, and looked almost as if the entire plain was aflame. Shining like a pearly drop of silver, the moon rose to take its place in the heavens. As small creatures rustled through the reeds behind him, and far off into the growing darkness an owl hooted, Spirit smiled. It was all rather peaceful. After his bath in the pool, the uneasiness that had plagued Spirit since morning had disappeared. All seemed to be right again.
“Come on you two! Quit standing there like a pair of absent-minded layabouts and sit down. I’m hungry,” Lilten grumbled impatiently. Laughing, Spirit and Elissay hurried over and inserted themselves into the circle. Spirit ended up between Bellirn and Elissay.
Bellirn grasped Spirit’s hand and bowed his head. There was a soft rustling as the other elves followed his lead. Spirit felt a fiery blush creeping onto his face as he realized he was would have to hold Elissay’s hand, but the emotion he was feeling was anything but embarrassment. He had no clue what it was. It felt prickly, intense… eager? What is going on with me? he thought, wrestling with his muddled emotions.
For a moment he just sat there, desperately wishing he could sit down and figure out what was going on in his head. Then he remembered they were getting ready to pray. Slowly, feeling incredibly nervous but oddly pleased, Spirit reached out for Elissay’s hand. Her soft fingers brushed his, and an electric tingle raced across his body. Hardly daring to breath, he closed his fingers around hers. Her hand was warm, her grip surprisingly tender. Unable to stop himself, Spirit peeked at her face.
As if she could feel the weight of his gaze, Elissay opened her deep green eyes and looked up. When she caught him staring at her, a smile began to creep onto her face. Then a strange emotion exploded across her face, and she whipped her head back forward, eyes determinedly clamped shut.
Confused by her reaction and yet fighting back the sudden desire to start grinning like a maniac, Spirit lowered his head as well. He breathed deeply several times, trying to calm his racing heart. Elissay’s fingers twitched in his, but then they calmed and he heard her take a deep breath. A warm sense of satisfaction set his whole body abuzz, and finally, a grin spread across his face. The grin faded as Bellirn cleared his throat and began.
“Oh Creator, ruler of the heavens, master of this world, we come to you in humble gratitude for protecting us as we have traveled to this place. We have passed through many dangers, but your guiding hand has protected us from them all. We ask you now that you would continue to watch over us as we begin the next stretch of our journey. Keep us under your caring wing for the rest of our voyage, shielding us from the dangers of the desert. In the Creator’s name, femun.”
“Femun,” they all repeated.
After they all sat down, Bella began passing out the rough wooden platters that they ate off of every evening, while Bellirn followed behind her, sliding a pigeon off the spit and onto their expectant plate. The meat was cooked to perfection, courtesy of Lilten’s excellent culinary skills. Spirit looked the bird over for several moments, admiring the skillfully seared meat before his hunger got the best of him and he began tearing it apart with his knife.
The circle was quiet for several minutes as everyone dug happily into their food. Around halfway through the meal, Bellirn cleared his throat.
“So, we all know the plan right?”
Spirit and the others groaned loudly in mock annoyance. “I think we know the plan by know Bellirn,” the boy said teasingly. “You’ve gone over it about a hundred times.”
Bellirn shrugged apologetically. “It’s better we know it by heart then someone forget and all of us pay. Let’s go over it one more time. At every oasis…”
They all answered in monotone. “We draw water for the horses to drink before replenishing our supplies.”
“As for food…”
“We only take from the rations if we can’t hunt for our own food.”
“Good. And the golden rule is…”
“Stick together and don’t wander off.”
Bellirn nodded, apparently satisfied. “Excellent. Anyone have anything to add?”
Lilten spoke up from beside Bella. “It’s always a good idea to tie down the flaps on the wagons as much as possible. The sand blows in pretty easily.” The others murmured their assent. Normally they just left the flaps hanging over the doorway, making it easier to get in and out. But with the soon-to-be-frequent sandstorms, tying them up would become a necessity.
Bellirn smiled, obviously pleased someone else was taking a part in his lecture. “Good idea Lilten. Anyone else?” He looked around at the others, who were studiously avoiding his gaze. When no one else spoke up, he nodded again. “Excellent.”
As the others started back up their interrupted conversations, Bellirn turned to Spirit. “Now, the others already know what I’m about to tell you, so this is purely for your benefit.”
Spirit sat up straight, his insatiable curiosity aroused.
As he spoke, Bellirn’s eyes acquired a dead look, as if remembering something incredibly painful. “I’m sure you’ve heard the others talk about how brutal the beasts in the desert are, right? But you have no way of knowing just how serious this is. The animals in desert are incredibly vicious, far worse than that bleak-wraith back in the woods.”
Spirit shuddered at the memory of the horrible grey monster that had very nearly killed him. He’d had nightmares about the encounter for several days afterwards.
Bellirn continued. “In the desert, the only rule is there are no rules. It’s kill or be killed, and the beasts there are exceptional at what they do. I know you’re an extremely competent fighter, but if you meet a wild animal on this trip, your best bet would be to find one of us.” He put a thin hand on Spirit’s shoulder. “The last thing I want is to see you get hurt. Do you understand me?”
Spirit nodded, taken aback by the concern coloring the elf’s voice. “Is that how you got your scars?” He gestured at Bellirn’s back.
The elf grimaced. “I got overconfident, thought I could take a midnight walk by myself. If I had been a second slower…” Bellirn lapsed into a moody silence, lost in the memory.
Spirit fidgeted uncomfortably, waiting for Bellirn to say something else. But all he did was stare at the ground, his eyes unfocused, his mind far away in another time. Hesitantly, Spirit asked, “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
Bellirn started and looked at Spirit. He managed a wan smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drift off on you.”
“It’s fine. Is there anything else you wanted to say?”
He shook his head. “No. I just wanted you to be forewarned.”
“Ok.” Spirit turned back to his now-cold pigeon, feeling as if a lead weight had been dropped into his stomach. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. Grimacing, he set his plate on the ground beside him and leaned back on his palms.
Bellirn was perfectly within rights to be concerned for him, but that didn’t mean he could treat him like a child! And as for the order—for that’s certainly what Bellirn had intended it to be—to run and get the others if he encountered a wild beast, that was completely outrageous! Spirit had been training with Kelken for over a month now. He could hit almost any target you cared to name, and he had already progressed to moving targets. Plus he had his fire abilities. Surely he could watch out for himself in a fight? But no! Bellirn wanted him to go off running and screaming like a ninny, pleading for the others to protect him.
Spirit snorted quietly. If Bellirn thought Spirit was going to agree to that, he was sorely mistaken. Besides, he doubted he could outrun any of the predators in that barren wasteland. If they could chase down a fully-grown elf man, he had no chance trying to run from them.

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After the meal, they scoured their plates clean without water, not wanting to waste any of the precious liquid. Lilten buried the bones outside the camp while everyone else stumbled sleepily into their wagons. Everyone except Spirit.
While everyone else had been finishing the final scraps of their food, Spirit had wandered off to a small hill, just a few minutes walk from the caravan. There he sat, struggling to puzzle out his confused feelings. It seemed like forever ago that he had stood by the edge of the pool with Elissay, more embarrassed then he had ever been in his life.
He sighed heavily. That was another confusing situation. What was going on with him? He had played blastball in nothing but his pants in front of dozens of people back home, and he hadn’t felt a thing! Yet standing there, just the two of them… Ugh! he thought. What is happening to me? He flopped onto his back, letting his breath out in an irritated huff.
Unbidden, an image of Drac and Reorin floated to the fore-front of his mind. Their happy expressions as they gazed at each other, quietly holding hands in the darkness. Holding hands… He froze, a thought suddenly occurring to him.  Could I… no. No way.
But his brain ignored his frantic protests. Despite his attempts to ignore his traitorous mind, memories rose to the surface like bubbles from the deep: him standing by the pool, mortified and yet secretly happy she could see how strong he was becoming; at dinner, the electricity that surged through his body when Elissay’s soft, thin fingers slipped around his tough, calloused ones; his joy at the smile on her face when they held hands, him wishing it would never end…
No! With a vigorous shake of his head, he shattered the train of thought like a fragile pane of glass. I can’t fall in love with her. She’s like, a hundred times my age! And immortal for that matter. Nothing could start there and you know it Spirit, so quit mooning after her like some lovesick puppy! She’s an elf, he told himself sternly, as if this final statement summed it all up. He knew it was a simple, logical conclusion, and yet for some reason it made him feel even worse.
Groaning, he covered his face with his hands. “Why does it have to be so complicated,” he grumbled to the stars.
They didn’t answer, just shone back at him, twinkling gently up there on the roof of the world. The scrublands around Spirit shone like silver in the light of the moon, so clear in the desert sky. A gentle wind blew across the plain, ruffling Spirit’s hair and sending little cyclones of dust spinning off the ground.
Absently, Spirit summoned fire to his hands, wreathing them in scarlet flames. Every time he did it, it became easier. Calling fire to him had become effortless, almost instinctual. At times the power he wielded scared him, and other times it invigorated him. Many things have changed, he thought to himself, swirling his iridescent hand through air.
He lay there until the moon shone high in the heavens above him. Then he rose and trudged tiredly back to camp. The others had long since turned in for the night, so the camp was still and quiet when he entered the circle. The ashes in the pit barely flickered when he walked past. He smiled slightly at what a grim indicator that was of his mood.
Stifling a yawn, Spirit pulled back the flap doorway and crawled into Bellirn’s wagon. Bellirn was curled up on his cot, snoring. Despite his bleak mindset, Spirit couldn’t help but giggle slightly at the elf’s pig-like snorts. Mood lightened somewhat, Spirit pulled off his boots and shirt, laid them by the doorway and collapsed onto his bedroll. Sighing, he slowly fell into a fitful slumber. Even in sleep his fears would not relinquish their hold, and his dreams were filled with ferocious beasts chasing him, and Elissay staring at him, a question on her lips that he could never hear.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Chapter 10: On the Brink of the Wasteland

Spirit’s days of traveling with the elves began to blur into each other, each day as bright and colorful as the last. After him and Elissay’s conversation, the other elves began to open up to him, becoming more friendly and inviting. Evidently, the fact that Elissay had forgiven him had encouraged the rest of the group to do likewise. Bit by bit, they started to lower their guards, and gradually Spirit got to know them.
Kelken turned out to be quite a lot like Conor, with his jokes and constantly energetic attitude. His hands never stayed still— one minute he was whittling a block of wood, the next braiding two bits of grass. Each elf had their preferred weapon, and Kelken’s was Spirit’s personal favorite: the throwing knife.
The second day of their travels, while helping Bellirn start the cooking fire, Spirit had heard a rhythmic thumping outside of the circle of wagons. Curious, Spirit had investigated and found Kelken behind his wagon, hurling his knives into a stump. Such was his concentration that Spirit stood there for over a minute before noticing Spirit was there. Grinning, he had begun to show Spirit the basics of knife throwing. By dinner Spirit had hit the stump three times, and Kelken had agreed to give him lessons once a week.
Bella was a master of alchemy. All of the elves dabbled in it, but she was the undisputed expert. Her wagon was filled with thousands upon thousands of tiny glass beakers, crystal vials, and wooden mortars and pestles. Claws, feather, skins and other various magical remains hung on the wooden ribs of the cart walls, and dried plants filled a large cupboard beside her cot. The interior was a riot of odors, each more exotic and fascinating than the last.
Spirit loved sitting in the wagon while she worked. Occasionally, she would ask Spirit to fetch an ingredient or two for her, and he quickly memorized the magical properties of wormwood leaves, virrin claws, primrose petals, and may more besides. Every once in a while she would teach him a new brew she had discovered, and soon the pair were staying up late into the night, hunched over steaming experiments. Spirit learned quickly, and only very rarely blew things up, a fact that Bella applauded.
Lilten was a scholar, through and through. His wagon was filled to the brim with books, maps, scrolls and manuscripts, many of which were magic. Spirit had thought Bellirn’s wagon was bad, but that clutter was nothing compared to the complete mess that was Lilten’s wagon. His precious books covered every surface, sometimes even including his bed. In fact, the only surface that seemed to be regularly clean was his desk. When he wasn’t reading, Lilten was writing. He had kept a journal of his travels, which he transcribed onto several rolls of parchment. Oftentimes, he was the only one who stayed up with Bella and Spirit, his little lamp burning bright in the darkness.
When his nose wasn’t buried in a book, Lilten began to instruct Spirit in the history of elves and magic. “If you’re going to the islands, you need to know everything you can about them,” he often said. Magic, Spirit learned, required intense focus and the correct words in old elvish. As long as you had enough concentration and willpower, you could cast any spell you wanted to. So domestic charms were the easiest to cast, seeing as there was nothing to keep you from concentrating. But attempting to cast spells in combat was an entirely different matter. “Imagine trying to think of absolutely nothing but a flower petal for two seconds while an enemy is trying to disembowel you,” Lilten had said dryly when Spirit had asked what the level of attention was. Having heard that, Spirit was even more impressed that the elves used magic on a day-to-day basis. No wonder human magicians are so rare, he thought to himself. The strength of will needed to use magic is superhuman!
In addition to the more arcane lessons, Lilten instructed Spirit in the basics of elvish mannerisms and courtesy. He learned that putting your hand over your heart and bowing was an old elvish greeting reserved for someone you respected deeply. Lilten also began to teach him the elvish language. Although the alien words baffled him, Spirit started to improve, stumbling over difficult words and phrases less and less. Oftentimes, while they all sat at the campfire during dinner, the other elves would converse with Spirit only in elvish, forcing him to improve if he wanted to talk.
And finally, whenever Spirit had a free hour, he would run off to a secluded area and practice his elemental control. He was always careful, never letting the blaze get out of hand. Gradually his abilities grew, until he could hold a blaze the size of his head in his palm for over a minute, throw small fireballs reasonably accurately, and even juggle for several seconds. The elves gave him privacy when he practiced, a fact he appreciated. The practice helped calm him and allowed him to collect his thoughts.

The weather began to grow hot and dry as they neared the plains. Spirit was excited about crossing the vast, featureless expanse. He’d heard tales about it from almost every merchant that had passed through Caren: it started with dry, grassy plains around the border, but the center was choked by sand and dust, devoid of any living thing. Some of the merchants claimed that Death lived in a valley in the center of the wasteland, emerging only to prey upon those whose time had come. But Spirit had scoffed at these tales, laughing with Zarn at the wide-eyed traders gesticulating crazily about black-skinned devils with hounds bigger than a full grown horse.
Slowly, the training with Kelken stripped all the fat off of Spirit’s body, leaving him lean and muscular. His mind grew sharp from his lessons with Lilten and Bella. Soon he could speak elvish almost as well as any of the others— albeit with a bit of an accent.

Several weeks after he joined the group, they stopped at a small town near the edge of the plainst. Already Spirit’s lips were cracking from the lack of moisture, and the sun beat relentlessly down upon the motley assortment of shops and houses. Cacti surrounded the village, their sharp spikes grim previews of the grit and determination needed to cross this barren desert. The wooden buildings were covered in sand, the tiny grains eating away at the decrepit walls. The town had an almost forlorn feeling to it, and it made Spirit nervous.
They had set up camp on the outskirts of town, near a small oasis. A tiny copse of trees concealed a small spring-fed pool, and there was enough grass for the horses to have a final, hardy meal before they entered the scrub grass of the plains. Bellirn and the others were inside the general store buying what supplies they would need for the trip across the desert, and Spirit leaned against the porch railing, waiting for them. Scanning the horizon, he sighed. No matter which direction he looked, the view was the same: flat, featureless scrub as far as the eye can see.
“A bit daunting, isn’t it.”
Spirit jumped and spun around to find Bellirn standing behind him, arms crossed..
“How did you do that?”
He laughed. “I never tried to hide. You’re just distracted.” He stepped forward to lean against the rail beside Spirit. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” the boy said quickly, looking away.
Bellirn turned his head to look at him, his brown eyes full of concern. “You can’t hide it from me. Something is bothering you. It’s written all over your face.”
Spirit sighed again. “It’s nothing big,” he began haltingly. “It’s just… I get the feeling something bad is going to happen. Like there’s a huge storm on the horizon headed straight for us, and as hard as I try, I can’t avoid it.”
Bellirn draped his arm over Spirit’s shoulder and gave him a rough hug. “It’ll be okay Spirit. All of us have journeyed through the desert at least once. We’re going to be fine.”
Spirit nodded and leaned back on the railing. The sun was setting over the bleached earth, casting splashes of rosy color over the tiny village. It sat on the land like a great big ball of molten gold, shining in the light of its own radiance.
After several minutes of brooding silence, Bellirn reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
Spirit looked over, interested. “What is it?”
Bellirn produced a piece of folded paper and held it out to Spirit. Excited, the boy opened the paper and laid it against the rail. “It’s a map,” Bellirn explained as Spirit gazed at the winding roads and magnificent lakes. “It shows a bit more detail on the Isles of Parmeia then any human map would.” He reached out and touched the map with a slender finger. “This is the village where we are now, and we’re going to travel across the desert—” He drew the finger down, straight through the heart of the plains. “—like this. The journey across is going to be rather long and hot, but we should be able to make it in a little over a month.”
Spirit studied the route Bellirn had indicated. They were on the north-western edge of the plain, so they would proceed in a more south-easterly path until they hit the heart of the desert. Then they would skirt around it, cutting through the tail end to arrive practically on the shores of Lake Luchina, where the Islands of Parmeia were. Spirit nodded to himself, attempting to allay his fears. The plan was solid, and if they met any wild beasts, the elves could surely handle them.
He looked at Bellirn and forced a smile onto his face. “This is awesome. Thanks.”
Bellirn smiled a concerned smile, and something told Spirit his deception hadn’t fooled the keen elf. But Bellirn just ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry Spirit. I’ll make sure you get to Parmeia safely. That’s a promise.”
Spirit nodded halfheartedly. Behind them, the doorbell jingled as the elves exited the general store. “Okay Bellirn,” he said quietly. Then they all began walking up the lonely street, back to the caravan.

                                    *                      *                      *

Bellirn and Lilten were cooking a brace of pigeons they had caught earlier that day over the fire, and Spirit decided to use the time to take a quick bath. Grabbing a towel from Bellirn’s belongings, Spirit headed off into the tiny grove of stunted trees.
A pool sat at the center of the grove, surrounded on all sides by the ever-present grass. The only reason you couldn’t see the pool from the campsite was the thick grasses and reeds, which in places grew above Spirit’s head. As Spirit entered the shade of the trees, he sighed. The heat, which had been so oppressive all day long, seemed to melt into nothingness under the shady boughs. The wind rustled through the tall reeds, brushing softly against his face. Shards of light fell through the canopy, illuminating the ground at his feet. With light, easy steps he glided between the yellow stalks until he came to the clearing in the center.
The pool was surrounded by short, feathery grass, shockingly green against its brown and gold backdrop. Kneeling, Spirit pulled off his boots and slid his feet into the water. He groaned happily as the cool water caressed his hot and aching feet. He sat there for a little while, just enjoying the peace and time to think. To his surprise, he had found himself missing his friends and family less and less the more time he spent with the elves. He felt as if he finally belonged somewhere, and that somewhere was right here. During the past few weeks, he had found purpose, and he was enjoying it. I still wish I could see them all again though, he thought. Maybe when I’ve finally mastered my gift, I can go back.
Pleased with this thought, he finished disrobing and sank into the water. The cold liquid lapped at his neck, sending goose bumps rippling up his arms. Before his teeth started to chatter, Spirit ducked his head under water. The cold hit him like a blow in the face, but he quickly got used to it. He surfaced for breath, then went back under and opened his eyes.
The bottom of the pool was a muddy world, to be sure. Tiny little fish darted about, nuzzling each other on the side before zipping away. Small plants waved lazily up at him with their leaf-like fronds. Occasionally one of the little fish would swim down to the bottom and dive headfirst into the mud until he was halfway in, his tail wriggling madly. After a moment, he would pull himself back out, already swallowing some poor insect that had burrowed beneath the surface.
Spirit watched their antics for awhile, enjoying himself, then rose to the top again. He breached like a whale, gasping for breath. They have no clue what is going on outside of their little pool. I doubt they even realize there is more to the world.
He swam about for several more minutes, then clambered onto the bank and toweled himself off. As he pulled on his shirt, he caught sight of his reflection in the water. Surprised, he knelt for a closer look.
His face was more tanned then he had ever seen it, even after a month of working in the fields. His muscles rippled across his arms and chest, stripped of all body fat. Evidently his workouts with Kelken had paid off. A grin spread across his face. He barely even recognized himself anymore. Gone was the helpless little orphan boy that Rixar had beaten up with impunity. A new man stood in his place, a man who could defend himself, make his own destiny. After several more moments of examining his reflection, he stood and continued to dress.
He was just picking up his shirt when the reeds rustled, then parted and Elissay stepped out holding a large staff. Spirit jumped, instinctually clutching his clothing to his bare chest.
Elissay looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She turned to step back into the reeds.
“No, wait.” He lowered his arms, letting them dangle at his side. “You’re fine.”
Slowly, she turned back to face him, leaning the staff casually against her shoulder. She had changed out of her usual dress, and was wearing a tight-fitting shirt and pants. Her blonde hair was pulled back behind a headband, and her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment.
Spirit found a heat rising in his face as well, but he did his best to ignore it. “What were you going to do?” he asked, indicating the staff.
She looked relieved at the distraction. “The staff is my preferred method of defense, just as the throwing knife is Kelken’s. I was coming here to practice. I didn’t know you were…” she paused, her blush rising.
“Right,” Spirit said, fighting another wave of heat and failing. For some reason, all he could think about was the way that little strand of golden hair was falling over her rosy cheek… Whoa Spirit. Calm down, he told himself. “Well, don’t let me stop you,” he said, pulling on his shirt.
She stood there for a second with a thoughtful expression on her lovely face, then she started slightly. “Stop what?”
“Your practicing,” he said slowly.
She giggled softly. “Ah. My mistake.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. I’ll see you back at the campsite then.”
She nodded and swung her staff back into her hands.
Spirit strode back into the tall grass and let out a long breath. Well, that was a bit awkward, he chuckled. Unconsciously, he glanced back over his shoulder at the clearing. He started to walk away before what he had seen registered in his head. Turning, he peered through the rough stalks in amazement.
Holding the sturdy length of wood in both hands, Elissay whirled across the small clearing, swinging the staff over her head to bring it down on a rock with a resounding crack. Whipping about, she spun her body like a top, driving back an invisible horde of enemies. With a quick jab, she knocked one off of his feet then leapt into a backwards somersault, landing just in time to smash another in the skull. Then she was off again, spinning and leaping across the clearing. Back and forth, up and down, each blow laden with deadly precision.
Spirit sat down, the tall grass shielding him from her gaze. Despite the waving stalks, his eyes never left her twirling form as she danced across the grass. Each movement was a graceful as a swan, yet swift as a striking snake. Spirit couldn’t help but stare in slack jawed amazement.
After what felt like an eternity, she gradually slowed until, with a final strike, she stopped. Sweat poured in waves down her face, her chest heaving from exertion. Straightening, she twirled her staff one last time, then began to walk towards the campsite. Grinning uncontrollably, Spirit jumped up and hurried over to her.
“That was amazing!” he exclaimed.
Elissay whirled around. “You stayed and watched me?” she asked, surprised.
Spirit’s grin, if possible, grew wider. “Yeah, and it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen! Can you teach me? Please?”
She seemed taken aback by the request. “Are you sure? The art of the quarterstaff is not nearly as popular as swordplay, or archery. Bellirn or Bella could teach you either of those.”
Spirit was already shaking his head before she finished. “No. I want to learn to wield a staff. It just seems more…” he searched for the right word. “Original.”
Elissay blushed again, but a hint of a smile crept onto her lovely face. “Well, if you truly wish to learn, I will not stop you. We can begin our lessons after we enter the plains.”
Spirit let out a whoop. “Thank you!” He grinned again, unable to help himself, and pulled back some the gently swaying reeds. “After you.”
Smiling, she inclined her head and stepped into the opening. Spirit followed close behind her, and together they wove their way towards the slowly rising stream of smoke.