Hey everyone! I'm so sorry, but I can't reply individually right now; my computer is about to die, and it looks like my charger is broken-please be okay, please be okay-but I want you all to know that I greatly appreciate you reading this, I love your reviews and all of you, and thanks so much for stopping by for the latest installment of Letters! Sorry it took so long to update; I don't know how I feel about this chapter, so input would be great.

Until we meet again,

-Ivy

Chapter Twenty-One

Day 265

It was just like my old nightmares. But worse. Heart racing, I woke, throat raw with shouting. Someone was pounding on my door and an instant later, mom bolted in. She was speaking, asking questions as she sat on the edge of my bed, but I hardly noticed her. Hunched over, I pulled my blankets close, unbearably hot but needing to hold something. Mom's cool hands were on my shoulders, her voice in my ear, and knowing she was so close and witnessing this whole spectacle was unbearable. I held the quilt to my face, feeling my tears and sweat and hot breath burning my face as I tried to hold it together. If my life hadn't been so terrible, I would have been more terrified than I had ever been before. As it was, I was still more frightened than I had been in a long time.

"Max?" Mom murmured, rubbing my shoulders. I flinched. "Sweetie, was it a bad dream?"

I choked, trying not to sob. She had no idea. I tried desperately to breathe, to convince myself that it was only a nightmare, only a goddamned nightmare. The door creaked, and Ella whispered my name from the doorway. I turned away, not able to look at her. I wasn't even supposed to be here! I didn't belong in this bedroom, alone, and mother or not, Valencia Martinez had never been the one I turned to when I was scared.

"Max?" She asked, placing a hand on my arm. I jerked away, pushing my tangled blankets at her and scrambling off the bed. Where were my shoes?

"What are you doing?" I heard her ask, voice sharp, but I didn't care. I tripped over a pile of books, swearing loudly, again yanking my arm free from my mom's grip. I didn't need shoes, I realized, throwing the window open and just trying to see through my tearing eyes. I just need to fly.

And so I leaped into the cool night air, wings already beating. Mom and Ella, both calling, were left behind, their voices fading into silence. This all happened so quickly, and yet it was an immediate relief to be away from their worry and words and wingless backs. I inhaled deeply, still trying to calm down. The air is always so much cooler at night, even in Arizona, and it made it somewhat easier to think and wipe away my tears. In the air, maybe I could come to grips with the unbearable dream. It was easier to forgive mom up here, as well. She had been trying to help, I knew, and I had been exceedingly ungrateful. But I was still shaking-still terrified.

This was exactly why we shouldn't be separated, I raged, so I know where everyone is and if they're safe. More than that, we were supposed to be together so that I could protect them. I could hardly breathe at the thought of not being there to save them, then have…

No. I wouldn't think about it. Couldn't think about it, not without feeling ready to throw up. I needed… I just needed my flock, my family, my rightwing man and my best friend. I needed to know they were safe and whole and asleep in their beds, not sliding on a slippery road in a car, crashing into a snow bank while I could do nothing…

My wingbeats faltered. I needed to calm down and even my breathing; I couldn't fly like this. If there was one thing I could have immediately though, it was flight. Better yet, I knew where I needed to go instead of wheeling in aimless circles above the desert. But I had promised Nudge, my remaining marbles protested, and we had already broken the rules so many times, and it always hurt more after we parted again.

Screw Nudge… I growled, already angling myself northward. I could make my own decisions, and right now, I needed to assure myself that nothing had happened, and nothing was going to suffice save actually seeing him, making sure his neck was still in proper condition, that he hadn't gone driving in that snow he talked about, that he didn't follow in the steps of his father…

It was a delusion, a nightmare, and yet I knew I wouldn't rest until I confirmed this myself. Call it paranoia, call it dependency, call it whatever the hell you want, but I was tired of being alone.

His windowsill was cold. Colder than the seventh layer of Hell. I was abruptly aware that I was barefoot; wearing only a holey t-shirt and some shorts, and that there was a fierce wind kicking snow every which way. Touching the glass was like plunging into ice water, but I pressed against it anyway, just able to see him twitch in his sleep. The blankets were tangled around his long legs. Was he having nightmares, too?

I wasn't sure what had come over me, why I needed him so badly that I physically hurt. I tried the window. Knowing Fang, no exit was ever locked. It gave easily, probably used to opening and closing at all hours. I shut it carefully behind me, then moved a little closer to him.

"Fang?" I whispered, my voice breaking on his name. He had goosebumps on his arms and curled inward in his sleep. He needed to wake up now. He was too still, too cold. "Fang!"

Faster than my gritty eyes could register, his eyes had flashed open, and my arm was in a vice-like hold, his other hand reaching back, ready to punch me into next year. He was breathing raggedly, but breathing, thank God. His grip relaxed slightly, his lips forming my name in silent surprise, but I didn't wait around to see what else he thought about me showing up in his room at the middle of the night. I launched into him, wrapping my arms around his chest and holding him as tightly as I could. I pressed my head into his shoulder, again counting my breaths and promising I wouldn't cry on him, which seemed to be a growing trend.

He stiffened, an unbendable rock in pajama pants and a black t-shirt. He smelled like Dove soap and snow and hay and feathers and wind, and this familiar scent calmed me like no glimpse in the window could. He wouldn't smell like anything if he were dead. I could feel his ribcage expanding, his feathers ruffling softly under his shirt. After the initial surprise, he softened a little and pulled me towards him, allowing me a little more room on the bed. His blankets had been pushed aside, and I think I knocked his pillow to the floor, but all that mattered was that he was here and I was here and we were together and alive.

"Hey," he whispered into my hair.

"Hey," I whispered back.

I felt his hand, tentative, soft, barely there but definitely present, on my shoulder. Unlike mom, I didn't shake him off.

"You okay?" He asked. "Physically?"

I nodded into his shoulder. "I haven't gotten your letter."

"Is that why you came?" He teased, but his voice was serious. "To kill me in my sleep?"

"I wouldn't have woken you if I wanted to kill you."

His torso shook as he chuckled, and I smiled as he pulled me a little closer. He wasn't dead. I hadn't abandoned him. "That's reassuring. Max-is that all that you wore? You flew to Montana in February in that?"

Fang's voice was rough with sleep deprivation. At least he had a real excuse, unlike mine. It had seemed so real, at the time. Now I was just relieved that I could laugh at myself for overreacting to a mere dream.

"I used super-speed," I told him, continuing to speak in our hushed tones. "It was fast."

This didn't appease him; he muttered something under his breath and nudged me to one side, ducking to retrieve the blankets. Fang didn't meet my eyes as he wrapped the comforter around my shoulders, and now that I was encompassed with warmth, I realized how cold I truly was.

"Thanks." I muttered, unable to resist shifting closer to him and his body heat. "Sorry I'm acting so messed up."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really." I admitted, resting my head on his shoulder. I could worry about the consequences of all this when the sun rose. For now, I just wanted him near and to never leave. I was tired, and the blanket was comfortable, but the memories of my last dream were still too raw. I couldn't sleep. Not yet.

"How's Brook?" I asked instead. It would keep me awake.

"Better. Loves the horses."

I looked up at him, noticing how the moonlight cut across his high cheekbones, casting his eyes into shadow. "Names?"

A ghost of a grin flickered across his face, and he tapped my head with his forehead. "She loved your idea, hadn't even thought of it. Mr. Bingley and Jane are now official residents."

I smiled, nestling into him. At this point he was practically my pillow, but I offered him some blanket to compensate. He pulled it across his folded legs calmly. He had no idea why I was there, and he was completely at ease with my showing up. Despite usually acting like an emotionless brick wall, he kept his arms around me, and I was extremely thankful. Knowing him, he probably knew how close I had been to tears-not something I was exactly proud of-but this was good. We were a flock, a family, and when one of us had a nightmare about-

Well, we were there for each other.

After a time, Fang leaned back against the wall and I sat next to him, hogging most of the warm comforter and trying to fight off sleep. I wanted to hear his voice, but I knew how tired he was, and I had already woken him up. I could hardly keep him awake now. My head bobbed, but I jerked awake. No more nightmares tonight.

"Max," Fang finally murmured, sounding half-asleep himself. "You're allowed to sleep."

I shuddered. He waited. I closed my eyes tight and tried to squirm away. His eyes were open instantly, the hint of a frown masking his face.

"I dreamed you were dead." I told those midnight eyes. "That you and I were driving in the snow. Remember when Brook told us about your-about Robin? In my dream, we were driving in a car, and the roads were slippery. We weren't driving too fast, but out of nowhere came this SUV and it slipped on the ice. It hit our car and we spun off the road into a snow bank. I was okay, but when I turned to see if you were… you had-"

"Broken my neck."

"You-"

"I have them, too. About y-about the flock." He admitted softly, looking away from me and out the frosted window.

"You do?"

He nodded and murmured, "We're a flock. We take care of each other. It's hard to break that habit if something happens, hard to know it's not your fault."

"But it would be," I argued, scooting to his side, watching his dark eyes even as he gazed out the window. "If I wasn't there and you-or anyone-died, it would be my fault. I'm the leader, I'm supposed to take care of-"

Again, he blocked me off. "You do, Max. You practically drive yourself crazy trying to take care of us. If and when any of us die, you're the one who has prolonged it until there is nothing left you can do."

I snorted and he looked sharply at me, his face blank and closed off. "If I can't do anything, I have failed, Fang. It would be my fault."

Fang's voice sharpened ever so slightly. "If my neck had been broken in the car crash? It wouldn't be your fault. It would be the fault of all the laws of physics that made me lurch in such a way that I had broken my neck. Now, as amazing as you are, you can hardly claim credit for the laws of physics."

My throat was closing, but I tried to laugh. "As far as you know! After all, I am all-knowing and all-powerful."

A smile ghosted across his face, and he surprised me by taking my hands. I crept back towards him, so that I could see the reflection of the moon in his night-sky eyes.

"All right, Zeus." He whispered, still smiling. "How about I offer you an alternative so you don't have to fly to Montana whenever your all-knowing imagination goes too far?"

The happy flame flickering in my chest died with his words, and he must have seen it in my face for he squeezed my hands and continued.

"I'm not saying, I don't want you here," he assured me. "But you could at least have an easier trip if we both promise each other to make our best effort at not dying."

The abrupt dejection and hurt I had felt at the mere thought that Fang didn't want me here faded. We both know we couldn't promise to never die-that was usually out of our control-and even if it was silly, his words did make me feel better. Hardly daring to smile, I nodded.

"I'd like that, Athena."

This time his smile remained, and we settled against each other with the blanket pulled up close. I nudged him with my elbow.

"Your room is really cold," I whispered and could practically hear his smirk when he replied.

"Your room is in Arizona."

I elbowed him again, harder this time. He snickered and shifted to lay recumbent on the bed. "Blanket stealer!" I hissed, snatching some back and putting my head on his pillow. He laughed, low in his throat.

"I'm still gonna worry," I told him after a time. I liked the way the moon tossed light across his room. I could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and with such a great view of the sky, I knew why Fang had chosen this one.

"I know," he mumbled, more than half asleep. "Me, too."

I tried closing my own eyes, and was pleasantly surprised that I could still hear this heartbeat, the air circulating through his lungs. I shivered and burrowed a little deeper under the blankets, but still not wanting to get too close to him in the small, shared bed. Talk about awkward the next morning. Wearily, he opened his eyes and watched me as he began to unfold his wings, as if gauging my reaction.

"Is this okay?" He asked, placing one tentatively around my exposed shoulders. Even before replying, the warmth was immediate. It was certainly a little more than okay.

Take it easy, Max.

"Yeah, but you don't have to, if it's uncomfortable."

Instead of speaking, he left his wing in place, and gradually, I heard his breathing slow as he sank into sleep. He looked calmer now than he had before, as if he'd never had reason to dream of cages and whitecoats and inhumane torture. He looked almost happy.

"Thanks, Fang." I whispered to his sleeping form. "Goodnight."

Day 266

When we had first escaped to the E-House, everyone had started with his or her own rooms. However, given that we had been together for so long and isolation usually meant a new form of torture, this didn't last long. Angel was going to sleep in Jeb's room, still so young, but Nudge quickly adopted her, unwilling to be alone. Gazzy and Iggy formed a truce the first night, though this lasted only about a month because it became too hazardous for two pyromaniacs to inhabit the same room. I swear if you lit a match in there, it would have caused a nuclear explosion. Fang and I, often ending up as refuges for nightmare-ridden children, didn't really encounter the problem of being alone for about a month.

And then it had been terrifying.

As I said, back at the school, the only times we had been taken away from other members of the group were to be tested on. There was always the fear that when they took someone away, that person would never come back. The hours and sometimes days of anticipation were nerve-wracking. The first night I spent without Nudge scrambling into my bed with Angel latched onto her back or Gazzy coming in at insanely late hours to claim he had to "check on me" by falling asleep in the already crowded room had been awful. I had sat up, unable to sleep, or even relax, jumping at every creak in wall or wind gust outside. Around midnight, a knock had come from one wall. One of the first things Jeb had taught us was Morse code, a series of sounds that can be replicated by knocking. Though I had started at first, I soon recognized what my neighbor was tapping.

Can I come over?

I distinctly remembering tapping back yes, and a few moments later, Fang had come in. He had stood awkwardly in the door for a long time, but then he saw my window and its view of the sky-his was blocked by trees-and all hesitance was gone. This happened on multiple occasions, and we would usually fall asleep sometime between midnight and five in the morning. As we grew older, Jeb voiced his disapproval on a few occasions, but we usually ignored him. Eventually it came that we would be talking or doing something in one of our rooms, and we wouldn't bother leaving when we became tired, conking out where we sat.

This was not unlike those days, although the bed was a bit smaller. Jeb wasn't sure how tall we would grow to be, so we all had pretty sizable ones at the house. When I woke up, Fang was still asleep, his breathing even and calm. His wing was still providing a very welcome source of heat, and I wondered how he could sleep through the sunlight streaming through the window and shining off every icy and snowy surface in the immediate area.

Unlike the old days, though, this time my stomach rolled with guilt. Not only had I abandoned my sister and mother without a word, but I think I had easily just taken another five years off of Fang's life. I knew I worried him, showing up in summer clothes in the middle of winter, not to mention the whole waking him up in the middle of the night thing. Blame our childhood, but the first thing that occurred to us when shaken awake is easily fight! These instincts aren't exactly good for the heart.

And I hated to even venture here, but we weren't innocent-or mostly-ten year olds anymore. We were best friends-just best friends-who happened to be of the opposite genders. We had also kissed each other on multiple occasions. In my defense, I only kissed him once, but still, this was going to play hell on my mind for ages. How did I know he wouldn't think that I wanted to be more than friends and that this was just because I had been scared and alone and in need of some flock time?

Because he's Fang, I told myself. He doesn't delude himself into thinking anything that's not true.

Well, the Voice chimed in. He has kissed you. Does that mean anything to you?

I frowned, rolling over and staring out the window, as if maybe I could melt the snow with my eyes. No. Shut up and go away.

For once, it actually did.

I snuggled a little closer to Fang, thankful to be warm when it was so cold outside. I knew there would definitely be a little more internal debate later, but for now, I was happy.

XXXXX

"I know, mom."

I made a face at Fang as she continued to lecture me on how worried sick she had been, how she had even considered that I was suicidal and that, "victims of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder-like you-have a very high suicide rate and how did I know you hadn't cracked and were off drowning yourself in some river or cutting your wrists open with a sharp rock in the desert-"

"Mom," I interrupted, "Please. Be rational. I'm not suicidal."

"You say that, but smart and experienced as you are, Max, I've read stories about people who are rescued from bad… situations and despite people's best efforts, they are already dead inside and-"

Ugh. Iggy was trying not to laugh and mostly failing, his face in his mittens. "Mom! Listen, just breathe and listen. I am not 'dead inside.' If I wanted to be dead, I could have just given up a long time ago and other people would have done the job for me, yes?"

"Maybe," she allowed, and I could tell she was making a serious effort to calm and stop obsessing over my health. I supposed this is what mothers did, but it was still slightly frustrating. "But you sure you okay? You just… bolted. I didn't know what was wrong."

My hand tightened around the portable phone. "I just had a nightmare, mom. I needed to fly."

"I know. I just wish… I wish I could have helped."

I nodded, realized she couldn't see it and muttered, "I know."

I watched Brook as she limped through the snow, distributing different buckets of grain to the various horses. She had little greetings for all of them, and I liked seeing her laugh when they nudged her with their heads or blew hot horse-breath into her face. Insisting she didn't want help, Fang, Iggy, and I leaned against the paddock fence and watched. My hot chocolate was getting cold.

"Does…" mom hesitated. "Being in Montana help?"

I took a deep breath, trying not to be impatient. I loved my mom, even if my recent actions didn't show it, but I was not a fan of the worry. I was the worrier. I hated when other people worried about me. "It's not Montana that helps, mom."

"I know."

I stood upright, taking my weight off the snow-laden fence. "Are you-are you laughing at me?"

"No."

"You so are. What is so funny? Why are you laughing at me?"

"Not at you, Max, never at you. I'm laughing at human nature."

I frowned, noticing that Fang was trying very hard not to listen in on the very audible conversation we were having, and that Iggy was reveling in my confusion. Typical.

"…Right." I said. "Well. I'll be back at some point, okay?"

"Okay. Say 'hi' to the boys for me."

"They can hear you."

She chuckled. "Should I have calmed down a little with the suicide talk, then?"

"I'm sure Iggy will have enough joke material to last, oh, I don't know, until I die. Wait-he'll have some then, too. But it'd be pretty grim joke material at that point."

Iggy snorted, and even Fang twitched his lip a little, but his eyes were trained on Brook as she limped through the deep snow toward the barn door. She rested against it for a moment, and though I couldn't hear it, I could tell it was still hard for her to breathe sometimes. A moment or two later, she hiked up her crutches and propelled herself inside.

"Very funny," she continued. "Just stay safe, okay? I worry."

"I know."

"Ella does, too…" She hinted.

"I don't know what to tell you," I said honestly, taking a gulp of hot chocolate before it could freeze. "I'm sorry. Tell her we all say hi, and that I'm sorry for snapping at her the other day, and that she'll actually have to talk to her teacher if she needs any help in science class for the next twenty-four hours."

By the time Brook had lurched her way across the path Fang and Iggy had shoveled through the snow, I had said my final goodbyes and hung up. She smiled sympathetically.

"Mom troubles?"

It still surprised me how similar her voice was to Fang's, but I just tucked the phone into the pocket of my borrowed winter coat. I took another sip. "Yeah," I said. "Nothing big. She just worries."

The woman adjusted her mittens. "It's a mom thing."

I grimaced. "So I've noticed. I'm a relatively capable person, which she is aware of. It's not like I'm Batman and have an alter ego. She knows that we survived the School, and the Institute, and my driving skills, and Erasers, and psycho scientists, and crazy escapades and dodging guys with Tasers…. Scratch that: I'm a really freaking capable person. I'm like, the queen of capable. And yet she still worries. I mean, nothing personal to Ella, but I don't know how well she'd do with the Tasers or Erasers."

"Shall I deflate your ego for you?" Iggy asked dryly, "Before we head indoors? I don't want you to break the door frame."

I kicked him. "It's true! I am a capable person. We all are. I don't know why she worries."

Brook leaned her crutches against the fence and took the thermos Iggy had made for her. She inhaled the chocolatey fumes with a small smile, then lowered herself into the snow. It was deep but fluffy, and her movement sent up the little flurries of flakes that Angel liked to call angel babies. I shivered at the mere sight of her, but she didn't seem to be cold. She leaned backward into it, looking up at the sky. I had never seen a sky as blue as Montana's, even in winter.

"My mother was an incessant worrier," she told us. "About everything. Normal things like if I would get sick, the creepers in the neighborhood, if I would fall off a horse and break my neck, but she was so obsessive about it. It took a five-paragraph essay for me to convince her that I could walk to school. The high school was about a mile away, and even then I had to call her before leaving, when I got there, and at the halfway point."

"Ouch," Iggy said, leaning back against the fence and smiling as a cool breeze whirled across the field. Brook laughed.

"It was terribly frustrating, but everyone worries. Even if I don't like when people become extremists, I get where they're coming from."

"Terrorist extremists or worrying extremists?" Iggy asked. "Because, frankly, terrorists are what I think about when I hear 'extremists.'"

Brook laughed again. "Worriers. I'm not a big fan of any type of extremists, though. Everyone worries, though, Max. Moms and dads, or guardians in general, are just especially good at it."

I wondered if she had thrown in the 'guardians' part for my benefit, because although she made no indication towards me, her eyes seemed to glint with something familiar in the sunlight. If she and Fang hadn't been so similar, I probably wouldn't have recognized it, but at that moment, I was sure she was talking about my flock and my paranoid habits surrounding them. And she was right: I did worry about them. Was that not the reason I had flown up here? Well, part of it anyway. I had dreamed that Fang had been killed and I couldn't save him and I was alone… so yes, I worried about my flock. It was kind of an all day, every day sort of deal.

And yet, this realization still gave me no patience for Iggy's jokes the rest of the day, asking when I would off myself, if he needed to call anyone for me or if I needed to talk. Now, this isn't something I usually joke about, but given that I spend the majority of my time fighting to stay alive, I'm not about to help the bad guys out and do their job for them.

I wasn't sure what, exactly, the boys usually did all day. I guess basically what I did: read and explored and flew and joked around and ate a lot. That basically constituted the entirety of our day, which I had no problem with. It was easy to forget the terror of last night when Iggy made snickerdoodles and I got to help spoon dough onto the trays while Fang snuck fingerfuls of the cinnamon dough when Iggy's back was turned. Somehow, our blind super-genius knew how much he took anyway and griped about how we would have a whole other tray if Fang and I had laid off.

"She says that cookies are a waste of cookie dough," Fang said when Iggy told him to stop eating.

"Yeah, and I say that I'm not cleaning up your puke when you throw up all night because of the amount of raw egg you've just eaten!"

Fang and I exchanged an if-our-diet-hasn't-killed-us-yet look and grabbed the spatula, where we took turns taking pinches of the dough. Iggy muttered darkly, something about an axe, a rope, a strand of barbed wire, and a chicken coop, but I don't think I heard everything properly.

Later, after dinner, we followed Brook down to the barn so I could officially meet Jane and Mr. Bingley. They were kept inside most of the time, and we had to help 'muck' the stalls (see: clean them) because Brook still wasn't one hundred percent, but considering some of the other stuff we've done, it wasn't actually that bad. She played the piano while we worked, and Jane and Mr. Bingley were quickly becoming converts to the odd barn where horses listened to music and were friends, not servants, to humans. They both had the most enormous eyes-deep brown and soulful like Nudge's, as if they weren't even capable of thinking a mean thought. Their breath was warm, and it smelled like hay. It was surprisingly sweet. I'm not usually one to pay attention to things like that, but it was a comforting place to be, and I realized why Fang wrote about the barn so much. It was cold outside, but inside was warm, thanks to the horses, and their coats made them all into teddy bear dopplegangers. Mr. Bingley had this funny habit of rubbing his forehead on anyone who came too close, and then he would whicker in your face and you would get a noseful of horse breath.

"Queen Elizabeth and Jane are becoming fast friends," Brook told me, abandoning her seat at the piano and limping over to the stall door. I smiled, watching Iggy feed the very thin mare a carrot. He loved the feel of their soft, whiskered noses. Textured things always made him feel better about not being able to see. "But I think she and Mr. Bingley are closest. He's very shy, and she likes to protect him out in the pasture."

Brook caught my eye and we both grinned at that, and called to Fang, standing in the corner and looking out the window.

"Hey," she called, "What's on the agenda for tonight?"

Somehow knowing she was talking to her, he glanced over his shoulder and looked right at me. The ghost of a grin flashed across his face, and he loped over to us.

"We're reading The Hunger Games." He told me, smiling ever so slightly. "We started reading Percy Jackson down here just because its warm and everyone fits, and its kind of a habit now."

I nodded; taking the book that had appeared in his hands. When had he brought it down? "What's it about?"

"Oh, its excellent," said Brook, sighing with pleasure as she sank into a mound of hay, probably the equivalent of the snow pile but warmer and a little more prickly, but she looked comfortable. "It takes place in the future, when North America has been divided into twelve Districts and the Capitol. The Capitol kind of abuses the people, so seventy-four years ago, the Districts rebelled. The Capitol bombed the now nonexistent District Thirteen and began something called the Hunger Games every year, to keep the Districts in place. Each District has one boy and one girl chosen to fight to the death, with the last one emerging as winner. The whole thing is televised. The main character, Katniss, just volunteered for her little sister, Prim. She's now on the train to the Capitol to undergo training before the Games begin. Katniss is basically the essence of girl power."

I slid a glance at Fang. "Which explains why Fang's reading."

He narrowed his eyes as if to say, very funny. Still, despite the teasing, I noticed he flicked a few glances at me as we all settled down into the straw as if worried I actually held him in disdain for reading a book narrated by a girl. What an idiot. Little did he know that I loved hearing him read, his steady, calm voice gliding over each word and illustrating the story in my mind. Only when he stopped did I realize how much time had passed. I lifted my head of his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

"You're stopping there?" I asked. "She's just entered the-"

He cut me off, placing his hand over my mouth and glancing pointedly at Brook and Iggy, who I now realized were sleeping lightly in their hay beds.

"So?" I whispered into his hand, which he pulled away. I lowered my voice. "You can keep reading anyway. Maybe their subconscious minds will absorb it."

He gave me a look that said, quite plainly, BS. Okay, new tactic.

"What if you just read to me, and mark the page where they fell asleep, and then you can go back and read to them some other time?"

I didn't mean to smile, but I found myself grinning as I looked up at his mildly amused face. For a moment he didn't speak, and then he just settled back and began to read. I watched his eyes trace the page, still smiling. Even Ella's Harry Potter books couldn't compare to this.