The Heartwood Tréximo

Sorcha said she was looking for someone. Her voice grew tighter as she spoke. She admitted that she wasn’t certain she wanted to return home, ever.

Antigone wished he knew how to tell her that he understood. His dark eyes were contemplative. She had pulled the green of her stare away from his face and with it gone, he felt colder. The snow had started to hurt his paws and chill the length of his sandy brown legs. Where could children go, if they could not go home?

The boy had never been one for impulse, but he couldn’t help but dread the thought of going back to Epoch. If he had to look at Reyson and Meadow in love, he might drown himself in the vale’s waterways.

You don’t have to go home.

Antigone felt a tightness in his throat.

We could go somewhere else.