The deep voice flowed soft and slow, a warm rumble of sound that could startle the unprepared, but the Messenger’s ready smile widened in greeting. “Same to you, Aril.” “You are early.” “My wings were restless. And I didn’t think you’d mind if I turned up before sunrise.” Aril waved a large hand to the stone step on which he sat. “Your company is always welcome. Come aside and tell me your news.” “Little has changed,” Milo admitted. “Most of my days are filled with ordinary things.” “I do not mind,” Aril assured, but his orange eyes studied the Messenger thoughtfully. “Though I am curious about your confession.” The Messenger’s brows lifted. “What did I say?” With a note of amusement, Aril replied, “Restless wings are rarely a sign of peace.” “I suppose not,” Milo conceded, running his fingers through his hair. Then, he blinked and murmured, “What If …?” “Yes?” “Instead of speaking of ordinary things, what if I told you an extraordinary story … about a girl whose eyes have been opened to heavenly things?”
