Silence shook the branches with gale wind force. Holt dâ€™Wyrden perked his pointed ears, careful not to move a muscle. His left hip screamed, shooting agony through his leg. Scents tickled his nose: early-summer leaves, fading flowers and moldering twigs from a birdâ€™s nest lodged above him. Magic, the trickle of water in a creek a few steps from the base of the elm where heâ€™d stretched out the in the wee hours of night, tingled near his toes. After his arrival from Evendon.
|One Savory Summer by Sharon Hughson|