his questions. But if he was right, he was certain he could use this new revelation to his advantage. He couldn ’ t help but smile at the thought of it.
Chapter 7
Olyva
So much had changed almost overnight. The sun was more than wonderful and warm on her skin, it nourished her. She could sense things through the soil as she dug her toes down into the spongy turf. She could feel the massive herd of Tamakas long before anyone from the tribe knew they were near. She could sense the pressure of the air and somehow instinctively knew that rain was coming.
The people of the tribe treated her with reverent awe. Some laid flowers at her feet; others brought little gifts of jewelry or food. She had to pull herself away from the radiant glory of the sunlight when a runner came with news of the Tamakas. The Hoskali were a nomadic tribe. It took less than an hour for everything to be neatly packed away and for the tribe to begin their trek across the plain.
One of the tribesman, an elder whose hair matched the white paint on his body, offered to let her ride in the Swanee’s wagon.
“ You can sit on the high seat, ” he said. “ The Swanee will not mind. ”
“ No, thank you, ” she said. “ I prefer to walk. ”
It was the first time she ’ d ever considered walking a preference. She didn ’ t like riding horses. The beasts were unpredictable and smelly, but had never preferred doing something that was likely to be taxing. She could have rode on the wagon easily enough, but she wanted to keep her feet on the ground. She liked the feeling of soil on the bottoms of her feet.
As she walked along, the children of the tribe surrounded her. Some spoke in quiet whispers, pointing when they thought she wasn ’ t looking, their eyes wide when she caught them staring. Others asked her questions.
“ Does it hurt? ” one curious girl asked.
“ Does what hurt? ” Olyva asked.
The young girl pointed at the patches of soft, brown stem-like growth on her arms and legs. Olyva was still wearing the woolen pants and tunic that Rafe had given her, but she had rolled up the sleeves and pant legs so that more of her skin could soak up the precious amber sunlight.
“ No, ” Olyva said with a smile. “ It doesn ’ t hurt. ”
“ Aren ’ t you afraid of becoming a tree? ” asked another girl.
“ I don ’ t know, ” Olyva said.
She hadn ’ t really thought about becoming a tree. When she first noticed the changes, she had been frightened, but now she felt a calmness about her life that was unexplainable. The sun was her food, the earth was her home. She wasn ’ t afraid of who she was or what she might become.
“ I don ’ t want to be a tree, ” said the girl.
“ We are who we are, ” Olyva said. “ We can ’ t change it, and we won ’ t be happy until we learn to embrace it. ”
The noble-born Olyva wondered at the words she was saying. They weren ’ t like her. There was an unmistakable wisdom to what she was saying, but she had never considered herself to be wise.
“ You ’ re different, ” said a small boy with a giggle. “ Your toes are the longest I ’ ve ever seen. ”
Olyva looked down. Her toes were long, longer than they had ever been before, and covered with rough, scaly skin that looked like tree bark. She realized that before she ’ d been banished from Avondale, the sight of such ugly feet would have revolted her. But now, she felt her feet served a very useful purpose—one more than just walking. She wiggled her toes and discovered she had a newfound dexterity in the long digits.
“ They are a bit strange, aren ’ t they? ” she said.
“ Why are your toes so long? ” the boy asked.
“ So that I can dig them down into the ground like this, ” Olyva said.
She pointed her toes down, and the ends disappeared in the turf. She wiggled them, working them deep into the ground. She could feel the warm soil on her feet and
Chapter 7
Olyva
So much had changed almost overnight. The sun was more than wonderful and warm on her skin, it nourished her. She could sense things through the soil as she dug her toes down into the spongy turf. She could feel the massive herd of Tamakas long before anyone from the tribe knew they were near. She could sense the pressure of the air and somehow instinctively knew that rain was coming.
The people of the tribe treated her with reverent awe. Some laid flowers at her feet; others brought little gifts of jewelry or food. She had to pull herself away from the radiant glory of the sunlight when a runner came with news of the Tamakas. The Hoskali were a nomadic tribe. It took less than an hour for everything to be neatly packed away and for the tribe to begin their trek across the plain.
One of the tribesman, an elder whose hair matched the white paint on his body, offered to let her ride in the Swanee’s wagon.
“ You can sit on the high seat, ” he said. “ The Swanee will not mind. ”
“ No, thank you, ” she said. “ I prefer to walk. ”
It was the first time she ’ d ever considered walking a preference. She didn ’ t like riding horses. The beasts were unpredictable and smelly, but had never preferred doing something that was likely to be taxing. She could have rode on the wagon easily enough, but she wanted to keep her feet on the ground. She liked the feeling of soil on the bottoms of her feet.
As she walked along, the children of the tribe surrounded her. Some spoke in quiet whispers, pointing when they thought she wasn ’ t looking, their eyes wide when she caught them staring. Others asked her questions.
“ Does it hurt? ” one curious girl asked.
“ Does what hurt? ” Olyva asked.
The young girl pointed at the patches of soft, brown stem-like growth on her arms and legs. Olyva was still wearing the woolen pants and tunic that Rafe had given her, but she had rolled up the sleeves and pant legs so that more of her skin could soak up the precious amber sunlight.
“ No, ” Olyva said with a smile. “ It doesn ’ t hurt. ”
“ Aren ’ t you afraid of becoming a tree? ” asked another girl.
“ I don ’ t know, ” Olyva said.
She hadn ’ t really thought about becoming a tree. When she first noticed the changes, she had been frightened, but now she felt a calmness about her life that was unexplainable. The sun was her food, the earth was her home. She wasn ’ t afraid of who she was or what she might become.
“ I don ’ t want to be a tree, ” said the girl.
“ We are who we are, ” Olyva said. “ We can ’ t change it, and we won ’ t be happy until we learn to embrace it. ”
The noble-born Olyva wondered at the words she was saying. They weren ’ t like her. There was an unmistakable wisdom to what she was saying, but she had never considered herself to be wise.
“ You ’ re different, ” said a small boy with a giggle. “ Your toes are the longest I ’ ve ever seen. ”
Olyva looked down. Her toes were long, longer than they had ever been before, and covered with rough, scaly skin that looked like tree bark. She realized that before she ’ d been banished from Avondale, the sight of such ugly feet would have revolted her. But now, she felt her feet served a very useful purpose—one more than just walking. She wiggled her toes and discovered she had a newfound dexterity in the long digits.
“ They are a bit strange, aren ’ t they? ” she said.
“ Why are your toes so long? ” the boy asked.
“ So that I can dig them down into the ground like this, ” Olyva said.
She pointed her toes down, and the ends disappeared in the turf. She wiggled them, working them deep into the ground. She could feel the warm soil on her feet and
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