the men turned to follow the road.
Cantor groaned softly and whispered, “Now why would they be interested in following my tracks?”
He unhitched his belongings from the limb and climbed another fifteen feet into the higher branches of the tree. He resettled himself. Anyone passing beneath would not spot him through the foliage. The problem was he couldn’t see without twisting and leaning away from his comfy spot.
The bough he perched on was narrower than those below and not as comfortable to sit upon. He shifted to ease the pain in his backside and dangled his feet. From his pack, he pulled out a packet of dried fruit and sucked on a thin wedge of apple as he waited. Hopefully, the men would ride past him and keep going.
“That smells good. Do you have another?”
Who’d said that? His first thought was Bridger, but the soft voice sounded like a female. Cantor whipped his head around.
In a neighboring tree, just six feet from where he sat, a young woman waved her fingers at him. He had completely missed her. Her skin was paper white. Her wildly frizzled hair hung over her shoulders, the color so fair it held only a gleam of gold. He thought of the rich cream from Ahma’s cow. The girl’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief as if she barely held back laughter. She’d enjoyed watching him settle without a clue she was there.
But it was no wonder he hadn’t seen her. On her head, she wore a green hat that molded to her madcap hair. Cloth tendrils of brown, rust, and shades of green hung down her back and around her face. Her clothing was multi-layered thin materials of the same woodland colors. She blended into her surroundings.
“I really am hungry.” She smiled. “Do you have anything to share?”
He reached in the sack and brought out one of Ahma’s food packets. “Can you catch?”
“With the best of them.”
He tossed the small package, and she caught it handily.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cantor watched her for a moment. She wasn’t shy about being hungry. Her eyes grew round as she opened the pouch.
She held up a roll and a strip of dried meat. “Oh, yum!” With the bread stuffed in her mouth, she poked around in the packet and brought out sliced cheese and an apple. “Oh, Primen loves me!”
She dropped the bread in her lap and bit into the apple.
Cantor’s amazement at the woman’s odd attire and stranger behavior flustered him for only a moment. If he was to be a realm walker, he’d have to confront oddities in a straightforward manner. “What are you doing up a tree?”
She spoke around the food she hadn’t swallowed yet. “Hiding.”
He asked even though he suspected he already knew the answer. “From?”
She waved the cheese toward the road. “Them.”
NICE TO MEET YOU
C antor stared at the oddly clothed young woman. “What did you do?”
Hermouth settled in a grim, straight line. A glare beamed at him from squinted eyes. Her brows lowered, and Cantor thanked Primen that she was in another tree and couldn’t reach him.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why are you being hunted by the King’s Guard?”
“Because I exist.”
“That doesn’t seem much of an offense.”
“You haven’t known me long.”
She opened her own canteen, practical gear for a journey but covered with soft and shiny material, lace, and small flat ornaments. She lifted it to her mouth and drank whatever it contained. When she again looked at him, her lips curved in a delicate smile, and her eyes sparkled.
Cantor decided she hadn’t given him a good enough answer. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re up a tree?”
“Oh, I told you the truth. I’m not from this plane, and the King’s Guard does not take kindly to visitors.”
“Where are you from?”
“Richra.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You?”
“Dairine.” His curiosity spurred him on. “Are you traveling alone?”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow. “It’s quite all right. I can
Cantor groaned softly and whispered, “Now why would they be interested in following my tracks?”
He unhitched his belongings from the limb and climbed another fifteen feet into the higher branches of the tree. He resettled himself. Anyone passing beneath would not spot him through the foliage. The problem was he couldn’t see without twisting and leaning away from his comfy spot.
The bough he perched on was narrower than those below and not as comfortable to sit upon. He shifted to ease the pain in his backside and dangled his feet. From his pack, he pulled out a packet of dried fruit and sucked on a thin wedge of apple as he waited. Hopefully, the men would ride past him and keep going.
“That smells good. Do you have another?”
Who’d said that? His first thought was Bridger, but the soft voice sounded like a female. Cantor whipped his head around.
In a neighboring tree, just six feet from where he sat, a young woman waved her fingers at him. He had completely missed her. Her skin was paper white. Her wildly frizzled hair hung over her shoulders, the color so fair it held only a gleam of gold. He thought of the rich cream from Ahma’s cow. The girl’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief as if she barely held back laughter. She’d enjoyed watching him settle without a clue she was there.
But it was no wonder he hadn’t seen her. On her head, she wore a green hat that molded to her madcap hair. Cloth tendrils of brown, rust, and shades of green hung down her back and around her face. Her clothing was multi-layered thin materials of the same woodland colors. She blended into her surroundings.
“I really am hungry.” She smiled. “Do you have anything to share?”
He reached in the sack and brought out one of Ahma’s food packets. “Can you catch?”
“With the best of them.”
He tossed the small package, and she caught it handily.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cantor watched her for a moment. She wasn’t shy about being hungry. Her eyes grew round as she opened the pouch.
She held up a roll and a strip of dried meat. “Oh, yum!” With the bread stuffed in her mouth, she poked around in the packet and brought out sliced cheese and an apple. “Oh, Primen loves me!”
She dropped the bread in her lap and bit into the apple.
Cantor’s amazement at the woman’s odd attire and stranger behavior flustered him for only a moment. If he was to be a realm walker, he’d have to confront oddities in a straightforward manner. “What are you doing up a tree?”
She spoke around the food she hadn’t swallowed yet. “Hiding.”
He asked even though he suspected he already knew the answer. “From?”
She waved the cheese toward the road. “Them.”
NICE TO MEET YOU
C antor stared at the oddly clothed young woman. “What did you do?”
Hermouth settled in a grim, straight line. A glare beamed at him from squinted eyes. Her brows lowered, and Cantor thanked Primen that she was in another tree and couldn’t reach him.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then why are you being hunted by the King’s Guard?”
“Because I exist.”
“That doesn’t seem much of an offense.”
“You haven’t known me long.”
She opened her own canteen, practical gear for a journey but covered with soft and shiny material, lace, and small flat ornaments. She lifted it to her mouth and drank whatever it contained. When she again looked at him, her lips curved in a delicate smile, and her eyes sparkled.
Cantor decided she hadn’t given him a good enough answer. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re up a tree?”
“Oh, I told you the truth. I’m not from this plane, and the King’s Guard does not take kindly to visitors.”
“Where are you from?”
“Richra.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You?”
“Dairine.” His curiosity spurred him on. “Are you traveling alone?”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow. “It’s quite all right. I can
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