I hear the prayer of those that cry to Me. Let them hear My Voice and trust in Me. And let them be led aright. —Osraed Ochan Book of the Covenant #99 Today Airleas’s solitary walk fetched him up in Airdasheen again, gazing around at the snow-covered roofs of the clutter of houses and tiny shops. There were no streets as such in the village, but only narrow avenues paved with slate or granite block that converged on a central village circle. In the warmer seasons there was an open air market here; now there was only a large patch of snow much used by the village children. Airleas watched them cavort among the drifts, building them up and exploding them gleefully in turns. They glanced at him cautiously, never full on, making him feel alien. He turned away, breathing deeply of the frosty, smoke-laden air and caught a whiff of something baking. The aroma drew him across the village circle to the Backstere’s shop, the carefree laughter of the children following him. The shop was warm and smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg and apples and . . .
