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For days, the forest night was alive, not just with the sound of crickets, but with the sound of cries. "Lief! Lief! Lief!" It was too dangerous to call out for him during the day. It was only at night that the Alastrians dared to pick up the search, hissing in their native language, hoping that it would be mistaken for birdsong or insects. The voices were mostly high. The desperate calls of children, including Ariadne, a skinny, small thing with hair the blue of candy floss and skin the green of the underside of a maple leaf. She moved with precision, her enormous, black wings never getting caught in the underbrush. This was Deleo. This was her home. And she knew every inch of it as well as she knew her own name. For seven years, it had been her shelter.
And her prison. But that wasn't the kind of thing she was permitted to say. It was forbidden. Just like the trips she sometimes took to the riverbed.
"Lief!" she whispered, more like a prayer than anything else. "Lief? Where are you? Why won't you answer us?"
( The first night... )
And her prison. But that wasn't the kind of thing she was permitted to say. It was forbidden. Just like the trips she sometimes took to the riverbed.
"Lief!" she whispered, more like a prayer than anything else. "Lief? Where are you? Why won't you answer us?"
( The first night... )
