| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| f0e771c | A rustle of wings and a hawk feather drifts down to me. Snatching it from the air, I look up into the trees, but nothing's there. So I tuck the feather into my hair. "What are you doing?" My stomach leaps into my throat, and I jump up, stumbling backward, and fall on my butt in the middle of the path. In the tree above me, a teenage boy perches on a branch. He's dressed in traditional deerskin breeches, a talon necklace around his neck, but.. | Rita Webb |