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There were too many. Far too many. Rowan gives her a sympathetic look.One does indeed. Behind him, Serendipity lets out a tiny laugh. Mrs Hawkins chooses to ignore it. They are overly bold everywhere these days. I want to find out where they have holed up and why they are invading our territory, particularly here and now, so close to Springmoot. Theyre arrogant indeed to think wed allow it. Hey, said the tall guy sitting beside Samara. What we celebrating? Bloody hell, says Rowan, returning the smile. Good job were meeting at a graveyard – you look like you need the lie down! That was his fear. His greatest fear. Once he would have given anything to take Gilliad, Scion of Jerns life. It had been his whole purpose, it drove him forwards as surely as his heart beat. Gilliad had trained with them, one of the Shistra-Phail warriors, a brother in arms at Shans side. Linda S. Prather I dont think anyone is, Jeren agreed. Not right now. You were the only one alive when I got there, he told her and moved back, further into the shadows. Violet keeps her face inscrutable– tries to distil what is memory from what is imagination. We all know where his bus is but we dont go up there, she says, brushing over the question. “There are mineshafts that you can fall down and never come out again. He gave us an assembly about that. So did Mr Rideal when he toldus about the history of the two houses – the school and the dorm. Mr MacBride, hes the head of pastoral, he always jokes that there are secret passageways and underground rooms in the old part of the house. Hes only joking though, I’m sure. Gabriel read the sheet related to bones discovered in a grave near the Broad River.It cant be Salyer. Dakota said he fell into the river and swam to shore. Heart racing, Samara spun away from her, darting around the far side of the bookcase, running for the door. The old man looked up, as though aware of her eyes upon him. His worn face stiffened, as if in pain, and he finally opened the pack, never taking his gaze off her. At risk of his own. His magic... Following the stranger. Smoking his cigarettes. Drinking his honeyed wine. Tripping after him like ducklings after their mother, heads swimming with the sweet golden wine… Samara dumped her sketchpad on the table and enjoyed a refreshing gulp of her icy lemon drink. She dropped her coat onto the opposite bench, glad to be free of it. Her long-sleeved shirt was warm enough in the pub with the fire blazing. The chunks of wood in the hearth emitted a pop with a small shower of golden sparks, reflected in the window on an impenetrable dark background. Shed have to get the bus home at night, but that waited in the future. No need to worry about going out there just yet..