Master of Sticks—! Ha! Master of 'Broomsticks'!—more like it, Nyte-red. So little faith you have in me—and yourself. Humpf—so sad. Your chivalry—beaten by thinest of broomsticks.

In downright frustration, Skye-voice waved his jowls from side to side, feeling sorry. He sat by himself on the edge of the cliffs above the farthest Outhills Camp to observe.

These children are thought to be their most gifted. Maybe one of these would do? Could one of them get close to the Council?

He'd learned so much from his 'previous' friend. Too bad about that—lack of courage business. Psssht—

Strange habits, you creatures. You can't even sense I am here! You are mostly just 'noise'—but you do have a great deal of energy—fun.

Nevertheless, a smidgeon's entertainment is better than none. These cliffs seem like a good place to be if I have to stay land-bound.

Why is their Council so intent on such 'signs'? Who needs a sign?

But Skye-voice knew he wanted to learn as much about humans as his father had done generations before him, and he sighed.

˜ ˜ ˜

When Ciara crept up to the edge of the camp, no one was there. She listened for a long enough time to be sure. There were no sounds of streams, nor were there campers.

Where could they go?

The small empty field of flattened grass and mostly bare soil gave way to a circle of stones in front of the tents. On the first of the stones was a big pot with a stained red scarf thrown over the top. She had to peek. Huckleberries!

Some of these people must be children! She stayed hidden in long grass and waited a while. Odd child-sized clothes and mugs had been left.

Most of the stones or benches in front of each different tent had some sort of projects or toys that she didn't recognize lying around or on top.

She hadn't seen any of these things before—Or have I? Her head was still foggy. Why don't I know what they are?

Obviously the children sat in this circle on purpose. She could hear names coming into her mind, 'Sadie', 'Drey', 'Rondan', 'Tarrow', 'Caluu'—and these voices floated from nowhere. This hasn't happened before!

The ring of stones looked like the fire pit in the field, she remembered. There must be a stream nearby for a drink. I must—need to find water. Was there a field, by a stream? Was that somewhere else? She tried to pull her memory back.

Ciara couldn't call the rest of the picture toward her—that was her past. The more her head cleared, the less she remembered. Where was her life? Why am I here? What was I doing before I woke up?

After she had already listened and waited politely, a fairly long while, she found she was getting more and more thirsty and crept in with caution.

A large stone a bit further into the glade had been used as a table for several cups, none of them clean. They were made of carved or shaped wood and bone, with paddings of leather or cloth, tied on by twine lacings, all without handles. They look like they made them right here.

The crow, sitting near, took off after he tired of her sneaking so slowly.

"I'm bored waiting too, you know," she called after him, wishing he'd stayed. But that wouldn't mean a thing to the crow. Arvy had missed seeing him here. Arvy? A pain shot through her head. Who?

She was here by herself. How long should I watch? Can I wait out my thirst?

She noticed a glint of sunlight off something from a tent on the far side of the camp. She looked around and decided to move further into the circle. Who knows if they might be gone for the rest of the day? No one was coming. She lifted the cloth on the pot and pulled out a handful of berries to help quench her thirst.

After that, she crept further in. When she got near to the spot that she'd seen the light sparkle, she realized the reflecting object must be inside the back of a more open tent. The light had only just caught her eye from the tent's farthest end. A open-ended triangular tube, made from a sheet, had been used as a shelter. At the opening in back, the rays hit—whatever it was.

She could see inside the tent. On one side, on top of stick poles tied together, lay a bed made of blankets. A second cot, made up by a much neater person, no—child—sat on the other. A pillow of clothes hid whatever the thing was that shone at the end.

The object could have stayed completely hidden from outside, if the sun hadn't bounced off it so brightly—like nothing else on the land. She couldn't help herself now.

I shouldn't go in. But outside the tent, the terrain presented too many large rocks, wedged all the way up to the mountain. She couldn't climb over boulders so large to inspect more politely in back, so she had to. She dared— She shouldn't, but she did—she tiptoed inside.

Just enough creeping, only to peek, was all that she'd intended. But what she saw made her even more curious, then. What on earth could shine as bright as this thing? She had to go all the way into the tent now. She listened and moved carefully.

The thing stuck out only a little. It was hidden in the pillow of clothes. Just the very tip of a handle, inlaid with bits of abalone shell, shimmered like rainbows, as the sunlight swept the inside of the tent. This would never be noticed, if she hadn't been just where she was. It is beautiful— What is it?

Ciara pulled back the roughly piled pillow to reveal more of the handle with cream-colored satiny swirls and tiny red dots of crystal, inlaid. They made an intricate flourish the shape of a flame. It wound up the stem of a stick—an incredible stick. A baton of some sort.

Ciara was just about to touch it. What is it for? Intricate carvings in the wood curved round a shaft above the pearl and red handle.

"Hey!" Footsteps were suddenly close up behind her. Ciara spun. She confronted a steaming red face on a dark-haired boy. And then she heard the hissing and honking of nearby nesting geese and all manner racket broke out, as more children's voices were heard, closing in. Other people were here. There was no hiding now.

"Hey! Don't touch my—togs! What are you doin'?" And the boy tried to stop her.

"It's just—it's not quite familiar—" And he saw what she touched.

"What part of "mine" and "togs" don't you get?"

"Uh. Most—both parts, really. I'm—"

"Look, I don't let my best friends know this is here, and they're my best buds. Why would I let you see or tell anyone else? What's wrong with you?"

"I kind of don't know. I'm not sure what—I'll just go, if you move."

"Where do you think you're going to?"

"I—I don't know, actually."

"What Circle are you?"

"I have no idea."

The boy glowered. "Well you figure it out, and you're gonna keep quiet, you hear? You think you got that much?" The boy still blocked her way.

Ciara nodded.

"I mean it."

"Yes. I shouldn't be here."

But then she heard a strange voice in her head rasping, "Hmmmm—or, maybe you should," and she heard a loud hissss.

≈≈≈ /