[Genesis of Shannara 03] - The Gypsy Morph by Terry Brooks

Author:Terry Brooks
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-04-01T23:13:22+00:00

“I wish things could go back to the way they were,” he said softly.

She reached over for his hand and placed it against her stomach. “Everything?”

He smiled. “Okay, maybe not everything.”

She hooked her arm through his and pressed against him.

AT MIDDAY, when they stopped to eat, Owl joined them. She wheeled herself over from the AV to where Hawk and Tessa sat apart from the other Ghosts in the dappled shadow of a skeletal tree stripped of leaves and life alike. She handed each a small hunk of cheese she had been saving, her face lined with worry.

“Are you all right?” she asked them. “You look tired.”

They were, of course. Everyone was. But Owl wasn’t looking for an answer; she was trying to give them a chance to talk about it.

“We’re okay,” Tessa assured her, a smile brightening her dark face. She patted the soft swell of her belly. “Baby says to tell you not to worry.”

“Maybe you should ride with us after we eat,” Owl suggested.

“She should.” Hawk pounced on the suggestion. When Tessa started to object, he shook his head. “You should, Tessa.” They ate in silence, concentrating on the food and trying to ignore the heat. The rest of the caravan had stopped as well, strung out for more than a mile behind them, the vehicles halted, the children and their caregivers and the others who had come with them taking a small rest before continuing on. Hawk was thinking that Helen Rice was right, that if this heat continued they would have to think about traveling at night. It was too hard on the children to keep going like this during the day.

“Do you think we have much farther to go?” Owl asked him after she had finished her meal.

He hesitated before answering. She was trying to hide it, but he could hear the concern in her voice, a ragged, furtive thing. Normally, Owl was the steady, optimistic one. She was the center of their family; she held them all together. He didn’t like what he was thinking.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted finally.

No one said anything. The midday heat beat down on them, baking their bodies within the oven of clothes long since gone stiff with sweat and dirt, their minds as tired as their expectations. Hawk couldn’t remember his last real bath. None of them had done more than wash off a little dirt and cool down their faces at the end of each day’s trek since they had set out. Before that, things hadn’t been much better. Food was growing scarce, too.

Time was as thin as hope.

“Will the King of the Silver River help you?” she pressed.

He shook his head and shrugged.

“Has he spoken to you since we set out?”

He shook his head again.

“Then how do you . . . ?”

“Owl, I don’t know!” he snapped, silencing her. He regretted his anger at once. He gave her an apologetic smile. “I wish I did know. I wish I knew everything about what we are doing instead of nothing.

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