The Veil Weavers by Maureen Bush Page A

the song for us, and then we joined her, all together. Then, conducting with her head, she gestured for Maddy to begin.
    Brox definitely couldn’t carry a tune, but he made up for it in volume. We followed each other through the song, around and around, until we were too tired to continue.
    We kept moving as we sang, down towards Storm Mountain. The crows kept their distance, distressed by Brox’s singing.
    Trees blocked our view of the Rockwall as we descended into the valley, and then it disappeared entirely as snow began to fall. Fat flakes drifted down, landing lightly on our hair and eyelashes. Soon we were coated in gleaming white.
    The clouds thickened, the sky darkened, and more snow fell. I was mesmerized by the flakes flying at me. They layered on my hair and my eyelashes and melted on my cheeks.
    Brox plodded on. I couldn’t tell if he knew exactly where he was going, or if he was just walking because there was nothing else to do.
    I didn’t want to say anything. Even after singing together, I still felt intimidated by the buffalo. But we couldn’t ride through the storm all night. “We need to find shelter,” I said.
    “We’re almost there,” said Brox.
    “At the Rockwall?” Maddy asked.
    “No,” he said, snorting. “That’s for tomorrow. We’re almost at your shelter for the night.” He looked up at the sky, flakes falling into his eyes. “Corvus,” he bellowed. “Corvus!”
    Nothing. The snow muffled even his voice.
    “Ah, well, we’ll find them,” said Brox, as he plodded on.
    He headed down to a stream, crashing through bushes and pushing his nose into snowy banks. When cliffs rose above the stream, Brox harrumphed in satisfaction. “Almost there.”
    Then an otter-person jumped up and whacked him on the nose. “ Sssst! That is close enough!”
    Brox snorted and backed into Vivienne, who stumbled into the stream. Maddy shrieked and clung to snow-slicked fur.
    The otter-person wasn’t as tall as Greyfur, but she had the same grey hair across her head and shoulders. She said, “Crows told us you were coming. Sssst! You are not welcome here.”
    “The children need a warm place to spend the night,” said Brox, calm but insistent.
    “ Humans are not welcome,” she said.
    More otter-people emerged out of the storm and gathered around the first, watchful and wary. Crows joined us, too, quietly settling on snow-covered branches.
    I didn’t want to push in where we clearly weren’t wanted, but the storm was getting worse and Maddy and I needed a safe place to sleep. I shook the snow off my head, wiped my face, and said, “We need to learn how to repair the veil. It is the Will of the Gathering.” I didn’t need any proof – magic resonated in my words.
    The otter-people froze, only their eyes moving as they looked back and forth among themselves. Finally the grey-haired otter-person said, “You believe you can fix veil?”
    “That is his task,” said Brox.
    “Sssst! Will he succeed?”
    “No other can,” said Brox, snorting softly.
    “But –”
    Vivienne interrupted. “He needs our help.”
    “Very well,” said the otter-person. “ Chrrr . They may come in. But only the humans. None others, tss .” She glared at the crows.
    Brox and Vivienne nodded, but the crows cawed in a clamour. She ignored them. When they settled on the trees and bushes nearest the cave, she frowned. They glared back.
    I slid off Brox’s back and staggered, my legs stiff from the ride, my back aching, my shoulders throbbing. I caught Maddy and steadied her as she struggled to keep her balance on wobbly legs. Then we pulled down our bags and our blankets and shook off as much snow as we could.
    “No buffalo furs, sssst! ” said the otter-person, her nose turned up. “They are too smelly.”
    Brox grunted. “They’re humans. They need blankets for warmth.”
    Sighing, she nodded again, and gestured for us to enter her cave, a dark opening in the cliff wall.
    “Will you be all right in the