This was easy territory, even for an eight-year-old girl. Violet had practically been raised in this forest, learning about her surroundings, learning how to tell which direction she was facing by the lichen growing on the tall tree trunks, and knowing how to tell the time of day by the position of the sun…at least on those days when that sun wasn’t obscured by the gloom of cloud cover. He wasn’t really worried about her out here. “Don’t go too far,” her father dutifully called from behind her. She stopped briefly to listen, but once it passed she continued on ahead. The sound whistled past her again, carried on the breeze that sent crisp, golden leaves swirling around her ankles. He walked casually behind her, at his same slow and steady pace, keeping a watchful eye on his eight-year-old daughter as she ran ahead of him. Only she understood what the haunting sound foretold. She looked back at her father to see if he had heard it too, even though she already knew the answer. She had been hearing sounds, or seeing colors, or smelling smells like these for years. She was familiar enough with the meaning of this new, and misplaced, noise. The rustling of the leaves mingled gently with the restless calls of birds and the far-off rushing waters of the icy river that lay beyond the trees.Īnd then there was another sound.
VIOLET AMBROSE WANDERED AWAY FROM THE safety of her father as she listened to the harmony of sounds weaving delicately around her.
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