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deeply lost she had been in the corridors of her own mind. You are us, we are
you.
Fire was her blood, her breath was richest purple and truest green, her heart
beat roses, and every faintest whisper in the world humped and skittered and
slithered and strolled before her in shape and color and scent and taste
reborn a living thing.
And in that pageant, that maelstrom, that wonder, a solitary cry of pain.
No! Don't leave me.
Over that, louder - as the crashing of the sea is louder than the falling of a
single drop of water onto a leaf in a rain-soaked forest - the great
susurration of the body that enfolded her. You are us, we are you. Wordless,
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soundless, and nonetheless immense, bone-melting, skin-searing, sense-drowning
. . . and wonderful. So wonderful. You are us. We are you.
And the desire, the hunger, the blind, seeking, nuzzling, pleading, raw-edged
want to be part of that, part of that, part of that, when that was the thing
she. had never had, never been, knew she could never be. Part of a group, part
of a herd, part of the masses. One of many, not one alone.
Never one alone again. To heal the hurt of her losses - her family, her
greater Family, her childhood, her pain at being Scarred, and finally her
abandonment by Ry.
And that single drop of water fell on that single wet leaf in that distant
stand of trees that whispered again, and again she felt its movement, heard
its soft plink, saw it shimmering in her mind: You were not alone with me.
She rose from the depths, slowly, as if from a deep and bewitching dream. She
rose, shaking layers of warmth from her skin and her soul. She rose, leaving
behind the alien vistas of a thousand years, the sweet touches of welcoming
brothers and sisters, the gentle lulling rocking embrace of that timeless,
waterless sea. She rose because that single tiny voice called her - against
time, against the tides of eternity, against even her own desires - and let
her see herself as she was.
She could hear the calling of that voice, and that set her apart, made her
unlike others, gave her both individual identity and distance.
She was Karnee, born strong, raised to be alone, destined to be a hunter. A
protector ... or a predator.
But never, never, never part of the herd.
The soft and muffling comfort of Falcon souls fell away completely; she was
above them then, as if she stood on the churning surface of the water. She
could still dip into that storm of memories and thoughts and hopes and fears,
but she would not be a part of it again. She was no longer the riverbank, but
neither was she the river; she had become the sailor - on the water, but never
truly part of it.
Her vision cleared, and she was once again in the close, dark room with her
uncle, kneeling on the hard tile floor, her knees sore and her back aching.
The instep of her right foot burned, and she had to fight the urge to change
position, to twist around to see what had caused that pain.
Dughall shook his head and smiled at her. "1 should have realized," he said.
She waited for clarification, but none came. Annoyance pricked her, and she
gave vent to it. "What should you have realized?"
"That the Falcons would never swallow you. You could no more lose yourself in
the comfort of others than 1 could fly." "Ry called to me when I was in
there," she said. Dughall shook his head.
"He couldn't have. Nothing can break through the sound of those voices when
they have hold of you. ..." He looked at his hands. "But you aren't me. They
don't compel you as they do me."
Kait said, "That was the place you came back from, wasn't it? When the Reborn
died and you sank into trance, that was the place where you were hiding."
"Yes . . . but it was not the warm and comforting place you felt. It was full
of despair then. It was . .
." He shook his head, lost for words. "It was a sea trying to swallow itself.
It was hell, and I was lost in it."
She considered that for a moment, and said, "You were strong to come back from
there."
"I was. The only thing more seductive than your own self-pity is self-pity you
share with your entire group. You did well to get my attention."
She thought a moment longer. "So . . . am I a Falcon, then, or am 1 not?"
He said, "You are. You've been marked." He pointed to the silver needles that
had lain beside the zanda when the two of them began. They were twisted into
knots and lumps, unrecognizable. "The
Falcons marked your skin with silver - somewhere. The place will be unique to
you, but the mark will be the same."
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