Dragonfly Web: Whitestuff

Five | New Girl

Master of Sticks—! Ha! Master of 'Broomsticks'!—more like it, Nyte-red. So little faith you have in me—and yourself. Humpf—so sad. Your chivalry—beaten by thinest of broomsticks.

In downright frustration, Skye-voice waved his jowls from side to side, feeling sorry. He sat by himself on the edge of the cliffs above the farthest Outhills Camp to observe.

These children are thought to be their most gifted. Maybe one of these would do? Could one of them get close to the Council?

He'd learned so much from his 'previous' friend. Too bad about that—lack of courage business. Psssht—

Strange habits, you creatures. You can't even sense I am here! You are mostly just 'noise'—but you do have a great deal of energy—fun.

Nevertheless, a smidgeon's entertainment is better than none. These cliffs seem like a good place to be if I have to stay land-bound.

Why is their Council so intent on such 'signs'? Who needs a sign?

But Skye-voice knew he wanted to learn as much about humans as his father had done generations before him, and he sighed.

˜ ˜ ˜

When Ciara crept up to the edge of the camp, no one was there. She listened for a long enough time to be sure. There were no sounds of streams, nor were there campers.

Where could they go?

The small empty field of flattened grass and mostly bare soil gave way to a circle of stones in front of the tents. On the first of the stones was a big pot with a stained red scarf thrown over the top. She had to peek. Huckleberries!

Some of these people must be children! She stayed hidden in long grass and waited a while. Odd child-sized clothes and mugs had been left.

Most of the stones or benches in front of each different tent had some sort of projects or toys that she didn't recognize lying around or on top.

She hadn't seen any of these things before—Or have I? Her head was still foggy. Why don't I know what they are?

Obviously the children sat in this circle on purpose. She could hear names coming into her mind, 'Sadie', 'Drey', 'Rondan', 'Tarrow', 'Caluu'—and these voices floated from nowhere. This hasn't happened before!

The ring of stones looked like the fire pit in the field, she remembered. There must be a stream nearby for a drink. I must—need to find water. Was there a field, by a stream? Was that somewhere else? She tried to pull her memory back.

Ciara couldn't call the rest of the picture toward her—that was her past. The more her head cleared, the less she remembered. Where was her life? Why am I here? What was I doing before I woke up?

After she had already listened and waited politely, a fairly long while, she found she was getting more and more thirsty and crept in with caution.

A large stone a bit further into the glade had been used as a table for several cups, none of them clean. They were made of carved or shaped wood and bone, with paddings of leather or cloth, tied on by twine lacings, all without handles. They look like they made them right here.

The crow, sitting near, took off after he tired of her sneaking so slowly.

"I'm bored waiting too, you know," she called after him, wishing he'd stayed. But that wouldn't mean a thing to the crow. Arvy had missed seeing him here. Arvy? A pain shot through her head. Who?