The preacher was a neat spare man in a yellow shirt and navy blue slacks. Had she not seen the maroon Bible pressed underneath his arm, she’d have mistaken him for a Vista Volunteer.
“It is mine now. Have no fear.”
“If the Shautu could read disaster in the heavens, could he not pull good fortune from the entries of a bear?”
“I am called the Protectra among my people. I don’t hunt alone. That would be impossible considering the largeness of our tribe.”
Before the Throne “Ridiculous,” scoffed Elymas, but Oren had stolen the power of his argument. “This thing may be, despite its unlikely location, the star prophesied of… Read more “Outer Flower, 22”