No ice flowed in her veins.
Mirella’s heart began to pound. It was the voice that had caused her to be driven from home.
“I have seen this man,’ Mirella paused, pointing at Oren Hunter, “Standing guard on the Jutting Rock since my twelfth summer.”
The flower and the effects of its scent became legendary.
“I am called the Protectra among my people. I don’t hunt alone. That would be impossible considering the largeness of our tribe.”
“In two days hence, Mirella, you’ll be on the narrow road heading north.”
Mirella The girl pushed through the crowd, unmindful of the curses following her as she trod on boots and hemlines. The curses could have come from or… Read more “Outer Flower, 8”