She listened to as much of their stories as they wished to tell. She was polite, attentive, and courteous, but not forthcoming. “She’s angry with us for not letting her search for her friend,” Hinder said to his cousin as they stood in line for pan bread one morning. “So what?” Sinder responded with a shrug. “The patrols are looking. Could she really do any better?” “I don’t know, Sin. You’ve known her as long as I have.” “Exactly, Hin.” Sinder clapped her cousin on his bony shoulder, and tapped her talons against her bowl. “If she were trained for scouting, if she were an expert with weapons, if her magic skills could penetrated Norsunder’s spells, I’d say, let her do what she wants. But she’s not even forest-trained.” The cousins observed Atan climbing carefully down the rope ladder from the tree platform they’d given her. Sinder picked up her bread in one hand, her bow in the other, and ran off to join the morning patrol. Hinder sighed, knowing that his cousin wouldn’t think about Atan’s reflective gaze, her sad smile.
