The Springborn

CALDER

O ur host, Hiram, is a quiet man. His appearance brings to mind the wolf he becomes at the full of the moon, for he is muscular but lean. His black-and-gray beard and hair are untamed and his eyes are the color of amber. When he smiles, he displays sharp canine teeth. Astonishingly, his grin comes across as cordial rather than fearsome.

He and Yonaz must empty every cupboard in the place, for they set the table with three kinds of jam, two big loaves of bread, several tins of biscuits and dried fruits, a half-wheel of golden cheese, most of a cold, roasted chicken, a bowl of boiled eggs, and a big pot of tea. Sabella and I set out plates and cutlery while Robbie rocks Sparrow in his skinny arms.

When we’re all seated, the meal is all eating and no conversation. For once, I am too tired to say anything foolish. Robbie pinches my thigh under the table when my weary gaze settles on Sabella’s antlers for too long. She notices nothing, it seems, other than the food on her plate. Quite the eater, our Sabella is, and I’m glad to see it. Her mine town diet was enough to keep her alive, but I long to see her cheeks rounded and rosy with health.

Robbie pinches me once more, harder. Was I staring again? Grinning stupidly? I’m too tired to remember. “I think I’ll lie down for a while, if you don’t mind,” I say to Hiram.

He points to the hallway. “Second door on the right.”

Somehow I convince my legs to carry me to the bed. Seconds later, I’m out like a snuffed candle.