Page 38 (1/2)

"What?" he asks He doesn’t lift his eyes from my hands, as if they’re capable of a miracle and he can finally witness what it is

"I thought about you in the Carving, too," I say "I dreamed of you"

Now he does look atdeep I feel makes me look down, and I write:

Dark, dark, dark it was

But the Physic’s hand was light

He knew the cure, he held the balht

Xander reads it over His lips move "Physic," he says softly His expression looks pained "You think I can heal people," he says

"I do"

Just then, soe come down the path across from us As if we’re one person, Xander and I stand up at the saame I’ve never seen before, one where they pretend to be sorass to make fur, others used leaves for feathers, and there are still ether, ain to war of nature and scraps for creation reminds me of the Gallery, and I wonder if the people back in Central have found another place to gather and share, or if they don’t have time at all for this anyht

"What would it have been like if we could do that?" Xander asks

"What?" I ask

"Be whatever anted," he says "What if they’d let us do that ere younger?"

I’ve thought about this, especially when I was in the Carving Who am I? What am I meant to be? I think how lucky I am, in spite of the Society, to have dreas Part of that is, of course, because of Grandfather, who always challenged me

"Remember Oria?" Xander asks

Yes Yes I reain; the two of us, Matched, holding hands on the air train on the way home from the Banquet My hand on the nape of his neck as I dropped the compass down his shirt so he could save Ky’s artifact fro our best to keep faith with one another

"Re newroses?" he asks

"I do," I say, thinking of that kiss, the only one we’ve had, and my heart aches for us both The air here in the mountains is sharp even in the summer It bites at us, twists our hair, puts tears in our eyes Standing here with Xander a with Ky out at the edge of the Carving

I reach out my hand to take Xander’s My pal with the stick, and as I look at it and think of Xander and newrose roots hanging down, the wind ht as air another cottonwood seed of memory comes to me:

My mother’s hands are printed black with dirt, but I can see the white lines crossing her pals We stand in the plant nursery at the Arboretulass roof overhead and the stea out

"Bram made it to school on tiat o to work early, it is et Bra now? You have a few ht stop by to see Grandfather," I say It’s all right to deviate from the usual routine this way, because Grandfather’s Banquet is cos to discuss

"Of course," she says She’s transferring the seedlings from the tubes where they started, rowed in a tray, to their new homes, little pots filled with soil She lifts one of the seedlings out

"It doesn’t have many roots," I say

"Not yet," she says "That will coain I’er at her workplace, and I have an air train to catch Getting up early with Braivenwind is playful, pushingme another It spins some of last fall’s leaves up into the air, and I wonder, if I climbed up on the air-train platform and jumped, if the spiral of ould catch

I cannot think of falling without thinking of flying

I could do it, I think, if I found a way to s

Soled world of the Hill on my way to the air-train stop "Cassia Reyes?" the worker asks The knees of her plainclothes are darkened with soil, like , a few years older thandown Pulling up or planting? I wonder

"Yes?" I say

"I need to speak with you," she says A e as she is, and soood Match I’ve never had pero on the Hill, and I look back up at the riot of plants and forest behind the workers What is it like in a place so wild?