CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The woods are beautiful.
They’re my friends, the trees, and I can feel them smiling down at me.
I skip along, kicking at dry pine needles, singing to myself, following close at the heels of my beloved uncle Edwin, who turns every so often, smiles and encourages me to follow.
I am three years old.
We have never walked so far into the woods, and the thrill of adventure lights up my insides. In fact, we hardly ever walk into the woods. And Uncle Edwin has brought only me. He’s left my brothers at home, far away.
I scramble to keep up with him, leaping over curved roots, dodging low-hanging branches.
We finally stop in a sunny clearing deep in the forest.
“Here, Elloren,” my uncle says. “I have something for you.” He bends down on one knee, pulls a stick from his cloak pocket and presses it into my tiny fist.
A present!
It’s
