The most merciless thing in the world is love. When love flees, all that remains is memory to pensate. Our friends were either going oheir ghosts the best our poor minds could jure to fill loves absence. I am hauo this day by all those who are missing. Losing Kivi, Blomma, Ragno, and Zanzara proved heartbreaking for Speck, too. She went about her tasks grim aermined, as if by staying busy she could keep phantoms at bay.
After the disaster in the mine, we deposed Béka with his sent, and the diminished elected Smaolach our new leader. We lived above ground for the first time in years, bound to one small clearing in the forest by Chavisorys immobility. The impulse to go bae ate at us all. Five years had passed since we had left our camp, ahought it might be safe to return. The last time anyone had seen our former home, the grounds had been denuded, but surely new growth had begun—where black ash had been, saplings should be ing up amid the wildflowers and fresh grass. Just as nature reclaims its ruins, the people, too, would have fotten about that boy lost in the river and the two faeries found in the market. Theyd want life to remain as they thought it had been.
With it safe to travel again, Luchóg, Smaolach, and I set out, leaving the other three behind at our makeshift camp to watch over Chavisory. Although the wind blew cold that day, our spirits quied at the prospect of seeing our old haunts again. We raced like deer along the trails, laughing as one passed the other. The old camp shimmered in inations as a promise ht redemption.
Climbing the western ridge, I heard distant laughter. We slowed our puce, and as we reached the lip, the sounds below piqued our curiosity. The valley came into view through the broken veil of tree limbs and branches Rows of houses and open lawns snaked and curled along ribbons of roadways. On the exact spot where our camp had been, five new houses faced an open circle. Another six sat oher side of a wide road cut through the trees. Brang off from that trail, more streets and houses flowed down the sloping hill to the main road into town.
"Be it ever so humble," Luchóg said.
I looked far ahead and saw bustling activity. From the back of a station wagon, a woman unloaded packages tied up with bows. Two boys tossed a football. A yellow car, shaped like a bug, chugged up a winding road. We could hear a radio talking about the Army-Navy game, and a man muttering curses as he nailed a string of lights beh the eaves of his roof. Mesmerized by all I saw, I failed to notice as day gave way to night. Lights went on in the homes, as if on sudden signal.
"Shall we see who lives on the ring?" Luchóg asked.
We crept down to the circle of asphalt. Two of the homes appeared empty. The other three showed signs of life: cars in the driveways, lamplit figures crossing behind the windows as if rushing off on vital tasks. Glang in each window, we saw the same story unfolding. A woman in a kit stirred something in a pot. Another lifted a huge bird from the oven, while in an adjoining room a man stared at minuscule figures playing games in a glowing box, his face flushed iement er. His -door neighbor slept in an easy chair, oblivious to the noise and flickering images.
"He looks familiar," I whispered.
Covered to his toes in blue terrycloth, a young child sat in a small cage in the er of the room. He played distractedly with brightly colored plastic toys. For a moment, I