‘Mother!’ Her features were scarlet as much from angry embarrassment as from an unfamiliar flush, a physical reaction which seemed to emanated responsively, maddeningly, from her belly, altogether without her volition.
The group suddenly stopped, faced by Arlon.
He was furious.
‘This is no walking party!’ he said in a harsh whisper. Except for Durphel, the others stared at him, fearful. The children suddenly huddled together, terrified by the quiet farmer’s sudden wrath; something they had never before witnessed. ‘Be silent! Keep a watch out! Listen carefully! I am not going to tell you twice! Is there a one of you who doesn’t understand this? Do you not recall Theuli’s words to us?’
Met with silence, he nodded approvingly.
They continued once more, the timbre of the group’s mood sullen in response to Arlon’s outburst. But, as if in answer to his warning, the late afternoon suddenly began to feel menacing; a feeling which only increased as skies darkened, becoming close and intense as the light of day failed altogether.
Walking alone in the middle of the group, feeling as though she were wading through the darkness, a sensation which, in her imagination, was how it would feel to walk under water, Nevana found herself feeling afraid, and wishing not only for Ralph’s comforting presence at her side, but for his strength, his protection. She wondered at this sudden image in her mind, of a tall warrior wielding a sword. Until now, she had loathed soldiers and their cruel weapons of war. To her wonder, she found herself welcoming the idea. ‘How odd,’ she thought, ‘that a change of heart can steal unbidden into one’s being, utterly without volition. I wonder;’ she mused, with a thrill and tingle of fear mixed indelibly with pleasure, ‘could he take my heart as easily as he has captured all my attention?’ The thought did not give her comfort. To love, like she loved her father and siblings, and to be affectionate: those were things she could understand. But the very notion of being in love . . . of being utterly at the mercy of her feelings, her passions . . . she shuddered, and thought to herself, That is the weakness of men, and the means by which we women are able to control them. And if it were not for that interfering little Faerie, I might have lured him into compromising me; then, I would tell my parents, they would make him marry me, and I could make him take me far away from this place, and live in peace, with a little house and garden of my own . . .