Saldia glanced up. The moon was two days from full harvest glory. Her heart leapt into her throat and her legs began to quiver. She realized she’d stopped when the other woman tugged on her arm.

“Come along, Saldia Trich.” Haranda sounded as though she spoke to a wayward child. A cold breeze rustled the leaves around them but her candle barely flickered. She looked tired, exhausted even.

Saldia flogged back her fear and walked alongside the woman. “I’m Gypsy folk?”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t have powers.”

“You will.”

The two were silent and Saldia counted the trees closest to the road to try and still her dread as she thought about her future. Powers? What kind of Gypsy workings would a tavern wench possess?

Book 2 - Sage Truth

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