The Springborn

CALDER

T he train ambles steadily along, but in the presence of Sabella and Sparrow, I feel as though I am already home. They sit on the bench opposite me, near enough that I could reach out to touch Sabella’s soft cheek if I were allowed such a privilege.

Blazes, I have missed her. Her stubborn streak, her kind heart. How she bites her lip when she’s thinking. Her ridiculous hats. The way her hand fits into mine.

I want to hold her, to tease her, to feed her until she loses that hungry mine town look again. I want to make her laugh loud and blush hard. I want to meet her in midnight kitchens and to take her on long afternoon rambles through the woods. I want her to trust me again, enough that she’ll want to plan a future for both of us.

I’m still worried about Branna, of course. The worry simmers in my gut constantly. She is my sister in all but blood, and I cannot imagine life without her.

Why would someone take Branna? Had this kidnapper been spying on us Springborn for an age, waiting for a chance to snatch one of us? Or was the crime a random thing—a case of someone wanting a small deer for a pet and no more?

In my bones, I feel that there’s some riddle to be solved here. When we reach the farm that’s now our home, if Robbie and Cleona’s search was unsuccessful, I’ll play detective and interview the other Springborn. One of us might have seen or heard something that could help us find Branna.

Sparrow slumps against Sabella, fast asleep. The train rounds a sharp curve, and Sabella holds her grownup-looking child tightly to her side to keep her from slipping off the seat. The love between them is so strong, I swear I can almost see it glimmering. The scene really should be the subject of a painting or a poem.

I try to compose a verse in my head but soon abandon the idea. Instead, I force myself to look out the window. In truth, all I want to do is stare at Sabella, but if I do, she’ll scold me. “We’re friends,” she’ll say with that little scowl that makes me want to kiss her so badly it hurts.

Blazes. Friendship is starting to sound more like a trial than a pleasure.

Just as I wonder how much longer this journey will take, the train whistle hoots and the station slides into view.