Aerenden: The Child Returns (Ærenden) by Kristen Taber Page B

tomorrow
we’ll be able to—”
    “I
can deal with the situation.” She brushed his hand off and stood, turning to
face him. “I don’t like you blocking me. I miss my parents. I’m still having a
hard time believing I’m on a different world, and this blocking thing makes me
feel odd, like there’s something missing.”
    “That’s
because there is,” he told her. “Your power is a part of you and having it
blocked is unnatural. I promise it’s for the best.”
    “Why?”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “What are you hiding from me?”
    “I’m
not hiding anything.”
    “You
are. I know you’re not telling me something, and now you can sense what I’m
feeling.”
    “What
makes you think I can sense your feelings?”
    “You
said you knew I was upset. How else could you know?”
    He
laughed, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Her frustration gave way to anger.
“You think this is funny? You drop me in the middle of nowhere, then you take
away my power and you think it’s funny ?”
    He
stopped laughing. Standing up, he bracketed her shoulders with his hands. “Your
power is still your own,” he told her. His eyes met hers and she sensed him
again. Although she felt anxiety and sorrow in him, humor overpowered those
emotions. The warmth of it almost brought a smile to her lips. She fought the
reaction, still irritated he found her anger humorous. “See?” he said, blocking
her again. “I haven’t taken your power.”
    “So
why do you block it? What are you afraid I’ll discover?”
    “Nothing.”
He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “Your power is stronger here and I’m
afraid my emotions will be overwhelming for you.”
    “You
can’t be certain, not if you don’t let me try.”
     “I
already know what will happen,” he responded. “I wish you’d trust me.”
    “How
am I supposed to trust you when I can’t tell what you’re feeling?” she
countered and then frowned when a smile returned to his lips. “You’re laughing
at me again.”
    “Not
quite, although I may be soon if you don’t stop complaining. You don’t get the
humor in what you said, do you?”
    Meaghan
glared at him instead of responding and he sat down on the blanket. “Sit,
please,” he said, patting the area beside him. When she refused to move, he
took her hand and pulled her down. “I’m tired of battling with you. We’re still
friends, aren’t we?”
    “That
has nothing to do with this.”
    “It
does. You’re not acting like it right now.”
    “That
isn’t fair.” She crossed her legs and then her arms. “I’m entitled to be upset
over this.”
    “You
are,” he agreed. “You’ve been through a lot, but I’m not your enemy. I’m trying
to help you, so please stop fighting with me.” She nodded and he lifted a hand
to her arm. “I can always tell when you’re upset, you know. You get tense and
you draw into yourself. Your shoulders tighten toward your ears,” he brought
his hand to her shoulder and she noticed the tension in it for the first time.
She exhaled a slow breath, forcing her muscles to relax. “And you bring your
arms in. You cross them or you clutch them in front of you.”
    “I
didn’t realize.”
    “I
did,” he said. “I’ve learned your cues over the past year, and not the ones
only associated with negative emotions. Your eyes crinkle when you’re trying to
hold back a laugh, like the time you played that prank on Vivian last fall,
replacing her pumpkin pie with a salted one. And you narrow your eyes right
before you make a joke or a sarcastic comment. It’s cute, and it’s one of the
clues anyone without your power would have to learn in order to gauge your
emotions.”
    “So
you think it’s funny that I have to learn to be like everyone else,” she
realized. She dropped her arms and he took her hand in his. “I guess I can see
that, but it’s frustrating for me. I thought I was good at reading people and
it turns out I don’t know how to do it at