The Wood was cold in the grey light of evening. No bird sang. No wind stirred the branches of the trees. Lys had tried to slip away alone. She should have known better. This time it was not my fault, not entirely: I had followed Francha. So we stood on the porch of the ruined chapel, Francha with both arms about her waist, I simply facing her. “If the walls can open at all,” Lys said, careful and cold, “your mortal presence will assure that they stay shut.” I heard her, but I was not listening. “Are you going to leave Francha again?” Lys frowned and looked down at the child who clung to her. “She can’t go, even if I can get in.” “Why not?” “She’s human.” “She can’t live in this world,” I said. “She was barely doing it when you came. When you go, she’ll die.” “We are forbidden—” “You were forbidden to leave. But you did it.” Lys had her arms around Francha, almost as if she could not help it. She gathered the child up and held her. “Oh, God!
