3.

I laud the endless forests of the Siccani, the eternal oaks, the blue mountains, the swift-flowing streams. But throughout the time I lived with the Siccani I knew that their land was not mine. It remained strange to me, just as the Siccani themselves remained strangers.

For five years I lived among the Siccani, learning their language and their strange and often amazing customs, and Arsinoe was content to share the life because of our love, although she often threatened to leave with some merchant who had ventured into the forest. Most of the merchants who came there with their wares were from Eryx, but some were from the Greek cities of Sicily, even from as far as Selinus and Agrigentum. Occasionally an Etruscan would bring a few sacks of salt for the Siccani, concealing iron knives and axe blades in them in expectation of great gains. The Siccani for their part displayed pelts, bright feathers, the bark of dyewood, wild honey and wax. They themselves remained hidden, but after I joined them I often talked for them with the merchants who frequently did not see a single Siccanian during their entire journey.

In this manner I heard news of the world and realized that times were restless and that the Greeks were spreading inland with increasing tenacity into the Siculian region. The Segestans too were beginning to thrust ever more deeply into the forests with their dogs and horses. On several occasions we were compelled to flee to the mountaintop to escape from the path of such an expedition. But the Siccani laid traps for their pursuers and frightened them with their terrifying drums. I did not reveal my identity, and the merchants believed me to be a Siccanian who somehow had learned languages. Although they were uncivilized men whose tales one did not have to believe, they nevertheless related that the Persians had conquered the Greek islands, even sacred Delos, through their foothold in lonia. They had imprisoned the islanders, sent the most beautiful maidens to the Great King, and castrated the finest youths as servants. They had even robbed and burned the temples to avenge the burning of the temple of Cybele at Sardis.

My deed haunted me in the depths of the Sicilian forests and made me uneasy. Holding Arsinoe’s moonstone in my hand, I called to Artemis.

“You fleet virgin, holy and eternal, for you the Amazons sacrificed their right breast, for you I burned the temple of Cybele at Sardis. Remember me if the other gods begin to persecute me because of the destruction of their temples.”

My uneasiness compelled me to propitiate the gods. The Siccani worshiped the underworld gods and thus also Demeter, for she is much more than the goddess of wheat sheaves. And since our daughter was born among the Siccani, I thought it best to name her Misme after the woman who had given water to Demeter as the goddess was searching for her lost daughter.

Only a few days had elapsed when the Siccanian priest came to me and said, “Somewhere a mighty battle is raging and many are dying.” He looked and listened in every direction, finally pointed eastward and said, “It is far away, beyond the sea.”

“How do you know?” I asked skeptically.

He stared at me in amazement. “Can’t you hear the thunder of fighting and the groans of the dying? It is a big battle since it carries this far.”

Other Siccanians gathered around us to listen and look toward the east. I also listened but heard only the murmur of the forest. They confirmed the words of their priest and quickly went to their sacrificial rock to propitiate the underworld gods lest the spirits of the numerous fallen enter the Siccanian newborn or the forest animals. Patiently they tried to explain to me that when so many men fell at one time their spirits would spread around the world and there was a possibility that the strange spirits might even enter the Siccanian forests in search of a resting place. The Siccanians were, however, unable to tell me who was fighting whom.

The Siccanian priest was drinking the sacred potion and in the grip of my restlessness I asked for some also. I knew that it was poisonous, but hoped that it would give me the Siccanians’ power to hear what was happening afar. Although the priest’s eyes were already inverted and he fell with twitching limbs to the ground, I swallowed the bitter potion greedily. But I did not hear the crash of battle. Instead, everything around me became transparent and the trees and rocks were like veils through which I could have thrust my hand. Finally I sank into the bowels of the earth among the voracious tree roots and in my trance saw the glitter of gold and silver under the sacred rock.

Upon awakening I vomited time and again until morning, and for several days thereafter felt more benumbed than I ever had after drinking wine. In my somber state of mind I no longer believed the Siccanians’ story of a battle, but considered it sheer delirium. Nothing made any difference to me and I could well understand why Mikon had wanted to die after drinking that poisonous potion.

But that same autumn brought with it a Greek merchant from Agri-gentum whom I had met once before by the river. He boasted that the Athenians had vanquished the Persian army on the field of Marathon near Athens and called it the greatest and most glorious battle of all times, since the Athenians had defeated the Persians alone without waiting for the promised Spartan reinforcements.

To me his story seemed incredible when I remembered how the Athenians had fled with us from Sardis to Ephesus, where they had sought shelter on their ships. Perhaps the Persians had suffered a defeat in attempting to land in Attica. But the Persians could not have transported many cavalrymen across the sea, and the use of ships in itself limited the size of an army. Such a defeat hardly weakened the King’s military reserves but on the contrary would provoke him to launch a real expedition into Greece at some opportune time.

The destruction of the free states of Greece was therefore but a matter of time. Instead of joy, the news of Marathon aroused evil forebodings in me. For me, the burner of the temple of Cybele at Sardis, Sicily was no longer a safe refuge.

One morning, as I bent over the spring to drink, a willow leaf fell onto the surface of the water before me. As I glanced up I saw a flock of birds flying northward so high that I knew they intended to cross the sea. I seemed to hear the rustle of their wings and their honking, and at that moment I knew that the moment of departure was near.

I did not drink or eat, but continued directly across the forest to the mountain slope and climbed atop some jagged rocks to listen to myself and to study the omens. Having left so abruptly, I had no other weapon with me than a worn knife. While climbing the slope I had caught the smell of a wild animal and heard whimpering. After a search I found the den of a wolf, some gnawed bones, and a small wolf cub tottering helplessly at the entrance to the cave. A wolf is a formidable opponent when it is defending its young, but I concealed myself in some bushes to see what would happen. When the she-wolf did not appear and the cub whimpered in hunger, I took it in my arms and went down the mountain.

Both Hiuls and Misme were captivated by the woolly cub, but the cat crept around it with arched back. I kicked the cat away and asked Hanna to milk the goat which the Siccanians had stolen from the Elymi. The cub was so hungry that it greedily sucked the goat’s milk as Hanna thrust her fingers into the cup for it. The children laughed and clapped their hands and I laughed also.

At that moment I realized what a beautiful maiden Hanna had become. Her brown limbs were straight and smooth, her eyes large and bright and her mouth smiling. She was wearing a flower in her hair and that is probably why I looked at her with different eyes.

Arsinoe followed my glance, nodded and said, “We will get a good price for her when we sell her upon our departure.”

Her words pierced me, for I had no desire to sell Hanna in some coastal city for travel funds, no matter how good a position she might attain as the plaything of some wealthy merchant. But I knew that it was wisest not to let Arsinoe notice my fondness for the girl who had so willingly shared the dangers of the Siccanian forest and had served us and cared for our children.

So certain was Arsinoe of her power over me and of her beauty that she ordered Hanna to uncover her body and show herself from front and rear so that I might observe for myself what fine merchandise we had obtained as a gift.

Hanna avoided my eyes in shame, although she tried to hold her chin up. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands, burst into sobs and ran out of the cave. Her weeping frightened the children so that they forgot their games. The cat took advantage of the situation, snatched the wolf cub in its teeth and slipped out.

When I finally found it, it had killed the helpless cub and was gnawing on it. In blind fury I seized a rock and crushed the cat’s head. As I did so I realized that I had always secretly hated the animal. It was as though, in killing the cat, I had freed myself of evil that had been haunting me.

I looked around to make certain that I was unobserved, found a crevice in the ground, quickly thrust the carcass into it and stopped it with a rock. As I bent to tear some moss with which to cover the evidence, I noticed that Hanna had approached silently and was scratching the ground as zealously as I.

Guiltily I looked at her and confessed, “I killed the cat in anger, although I didn’t mean to.”

Hanna nodded. “That was good,” she whispered.

We scattered moss and leaves over the spot and as we did so our hands touched. The touch of her trusting girl’s hand felt pleasant.

“I don’t intend to tell Arsinoe that I killed it,” I said.

Hanna looked at me with flashing eyes. “You don’t have to tell her,” she assured me. “The cat has often disappeared into the forest for nights at a time and our mistress has feared that it has fallen prey to a wild beast.”

“Hanna,” I asked, “do you realize that by sharing a secret with me you bind yourself to me?”

She raised her eyes, looked at me bravely and said, “Turms, I bound myself to you when I was a little girl, that night when you took me in your lap on the steps of the dog Krimisos’ temple.”

“This secret is insignificant,” I said, “and only for the purpose of avoiding an unnecessary quarrel, you understand. Never before have I deliberately lied to Arsinoe.”

I warmed to the brightness of her eyes, although I certainly did not desire her. Indeed, the thought did not even enter my mind that I could ever desire any other woman than Arsinoe. Hanna probably realized it, for she bowed her head humbly and rose so suddenly that the flower in her hair fell to the ground at my feet.

“Is it a lie, Turms, if one keeps secret what one knows?” she asked, moving the flower with her brown toes.

“It probably depends on the person himself,” I said. “I myself know that I would be lying to Arsinoe if I let her believe that the cat disappeared and did not tell her that I killed it in rage. But sometimes it is kindest to refrain from saying what will hurt another, even though the lie will burn one’s heart.”

Absently she touched her heart, listened to it for a moment and conceded, “Yes, Turms, the lie is burning my heart, and I feel its sting.” Then she smiled oddly, tilted her head and exclaimed, “How gloriously the lie burns my heart because of you, Turms!”

Quickly she ran away. We returned to the cave by separate paths and did not speak of the matter again. Arsinoe mourned her cat but she had enough to do with the two children. Nor did she mourn the cat for its own sake but from sheer vanity, since she had lost what no one else among the Siccani possessed.

Primarily I was troubled by a gnawing restlessness and the omens which I was as yet unable to interpret. I knew that I had to depart soon but had no idea in which direction to go. I didn’t even have the means with which to return to civilization where one could purchase hospitality if one had no friends. My only friend was Lars Alsir, if he still lived in Himera. But a return to Himera would have meant certain death since both Arsinoe and I were known there. Besides, I was already indebted to Lars Alsir and the thought of the debt troubled me.

I realized that I was just as poor as when Tanakil had banished us from Segesta, for like the Siccani I possessed only the clothes I wore and my weapons.

In my anxiety I reproached the succoring goddess, saying “Holy virgin, the Amazons hung their breasts on your garments as offerings. You have succored me and my family so that we have not wanted for food or clothing. But you yourself appeared to me in Ephesus as Hecate and promised that I would never lack earthly riches whenever I needed them. Remember your promise, for now I need gold and silver.”

A few days later, near the full of the moon, Artemis appeared to me in a dream as Hecate. I saw her three terrifying faces, she was waving a trident and a black dog was barking furiously at her feet. My whole body was enveloped in cold sweat when I awakened, for even in a kindly mood Hecate is an awesome sight. But the trident confirmed my belief that I must sail across the sea.

I was filled with such elation that I could no longer sleep but went out into the forest. By the sacrificial rock I met several Siccanians who were looking and listening in every direction. They claimed that strangers were approaching.

“Let us go toward them so that we will surely meet,” I suggested. “Perhaps they are bringing salt and cloth.”

On a bank of the river we found an Etruscan merchant who had brought salt in a small sailboat to Panormos, where he paid his taxes, and from there transported the salt by donkey to the forests of the Siccani. He was accompanied by three slaves and servants. They had built a fire for the night to protect themselves from the wild beasts and to indicate their peaceful intentions. They had likewise ornamented the donkeys and sacks of salt with fir branches and themselves slept with a fir branch clutched tightly in one hand. The Siccanian forest had a frightening reputation although the Siccani had not within the memory of man killed any merchant who ventured into their territory under the protection of a fir branch.

When dawn broke I could hardly contain my impatience, for beside the Tyrrhenian merchant I saw a strange man sleeping under a beautifully loomed woolen mantle. His beard was curly and the fragrance of fine oils carried to my nostrils. I could not understand what such a man could be doing in the Siccanian forest with a lowly merchant.

I watched him while the day grew lighter and the fish began to leap in the calm waters of the river. Finally the stranger turned in his sleep, awakened, and sat upright with a cry of terror. Seeing the Siccanians with their striped faces sitting silently by the fire he screamed again and reached for die weapon beside him.

The merchant awakened instantly and reassured the man, while the Siccanians rose and disappeared silently into the forest as though the earth had swallowed them, leaving me to bargain with the merchant as was their custom. Nevertheless, I knew that they saw and heard all I did even though we could not see them. Their habit of painting stripes on their faces enabled them to remain invisible, for at first sight one would believe an immobile Siccanian to be but the shadows of reeds or bushes.

When the stranger arose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, I noticed that he was wearing loose trousers. I knew then that he had come far and that he served the Persian king. He was still young, his skin was white, and he soon donned a broad-brimmed straw hat to shield his face from the heat of the sun.

He asked in amazement, “Was I dreaming, or did I really see trees walking away from the campfire? At least I saw a strange god in my dream and was so alarmed that I awakened to my own cry.”

In his bewilderment he spoke Greek, which the Etruscan did not understand. Not wishing to reveal that I was not a Siccanian, I replied to him in Greek mixed with Elymian and Siccanian words.

“How far have you come, stranger?” I asked. “Your clothes are odd. What are you doing in our forest? You are certainly not a merchant. Are you a priest or a seer, or are you fulfilling a vow?”

“I am fulfilling a vow,” he replied quickly, happy that I spoke comprehensible Greek. The Etruscan understood little of what the man said, although he had permitted the other to accompany him for payment, as I learned. I pretended to lose interest in the stranger and began to talk to the merchant, tasting his salt and looking at his cloth. With a wink he indicated that he had concealed iron objects in the sacks of salt. He had presumably bribed the customs man of Panormos, for the Carthaginian tax collectors were not much concerned with the Elymian ban against selling iron to the Siccani.

With the Tyrrhenian I spoke the jargon of the sea, which contained Greek, Phoenician and Etruscan words. Because of this he believed me to be a Siccanian who as a boy had been caught and sold as a galley slave and who had returned to the forest at the first opportunity. Finally I asked him about the stranger.

He shook his head scornfully. “He is just a mad Greek who is wandering from east to west to familiarize himself with the different countries and peoples. He is buying useless objects, and I think he is interested in Siccanian flint knives and wooden bowls. Sell him whatever trash you wish so long as you pay me my commission. He doesn’t know how to bargain and it’s no sin to deceive him. After all, he is a pampered man who doesn’t know how to dispose of his money.”

The stranger watched us suspiciously and when he caught my eye explained hastily, “I am not a lowborn man. You will benefit more by listening to me than by robbing me.” Tempting me as one would a barbarian, he jingled his money pouch.

I kissed my hand, not from respect toward him but in gratitude to the goddess who as Hecate had not deserted me. But I shook my head and replied, “We Siccanians do not use money.”

He spread his hands. “Then choose what you will from among the merchant’s goods and I will pay him. He understands the value of money.”

“I cannot accept gifts before I know what is going on,” I said gloomily. “I suspect you because of the garments you wear. I have never seen any like them before.”

“I am a servant of the Persian king,” he explained. “That is why I wear these garments which are called trousers. I come from Susa, which is his city, and I sailed from lonia as the companion of Messina’s former tyrant, Skythes. But the people of Messina apparently do not want Skythes, preferring to obey Anaxilaos of Rhegion instead. So I am wandering around Sicily for my own pleasure and to increase my knowledge of the various peoples.”

I said nothing. He looked at me intently, then shook his head and asked mournfully, “Do you understand at all what I am saying?”

“I understand more than you think,” I replied. “After all, Skythes dug the pit for himself by inviting settlers from Samos to found a new colony. But what does the Great King hope to benefit from Skythes?”

He was elated to discover that I knew something of politics. “My name is Xenodotos,” he explained. “I am an Ionian and a pupil of the famous historian Hecataeus, but I became a slave of the King during the war.”

At my look of loathing he hastened to say, “Don’t misunderstand me. I am a slave in name only. If Skythes had regained Messina, I would have become his adviser. Skythes fled to Susa because the King is the friend of all exiles. He is also a friend of knowledge, and his Crotonian physician has awakened his interest in the Greek cities of Italy and Sicily. But the King is interested in all other peoples as well, even in those of whom he has not yet heard, and is ready to send gifts to their leaders and to know more of them.”

He looked at me closely, stroked his curly beard and continued, “In enlarging his knowledge of the world’s peoples, the King is enlarging the whole sphere of knowledge and thus serves humanity. Among his treasures is a copy of Hecataeus’ map of the world etched in bronze, but in his thirst for knowledge he wants to know even the shore lines, the course of the rivers, the forests and mountains of the various countries. Nothing is too insignificant for him to learn, since the gods have destined him to be the father of all peoples.”

“He treated the Ionian cities in a paternal manner indeed,” I observed sarcastically. “Especially Miletus, the most gifted of his children.”

Xenodotos demanded suspiciously, “How have you learned to speak Greek, you Siccanian with the painted face? What do you know about lonia?”

I thought it best to boast. “I even know how to read and write and have sailed to many lands. Why and how it happened is no concern of yours, stranger, but I know more than you think.”

He became even more interested. “If that is so, and you really know and understand matters, you surely realize that even a lenient father is compelled to chastise his obstinate children. So much for Miletus. But to his friends the King is a most generous master, wise and just.”

“You are forgetting the envy of the gods, Xenodotos,” I said.

“We are living in new times,” he replied. “Let us leave the tales about the gods to the babblers. The sages of lonia know better. The only god served by the King is fire. Everything has its origin in fire and ultimately returns to it. But of course the King respects the deities of the peoples he rules and sends gifts to their temples.”

“Doesn’t one of the Ionian sages teach that everything consists only of movement and currents and the tremor of fire?” I asked. “Herakleitos of Ephesus, if I remember correctly. Or do you think he borrowed his doctrine from the Persian?”

Xenodotos looked at me with respect and admitted, “You are a learned man. I would gladly have met Herakleitos in Ephesus, but he is said to have become embittered toward the world and to have withdrawn to the mountains to eat herbs. The King had a letter written in which he asked for the details of the doctrine, but Herakleitos rejected the letter. In fact, he stoned the messenger and refused to accept the gifts that had been left for him. The King, however, did not take offensc but said that the older he becomes and the better he learns to know people, the more he himself feels like bleating and eating grass.”

I laughed. “Your story is the best I have yet heard about the Great King. Perhaps I would want to be his friend had I myself not withdrawn to the forest and donned pelts.”

Xenodotos stroked his beard again and intimated, “We understand each other. Conclude your trade with the Etruscan and thereafter I want to enjoy your hospitality, see your home, become acquainted with the Siccanian chiefs, and talk more with you.”

I shook my head. “If you succeed in laying a hand on the sooty stone of a Siccanian’s hearth, you will enjoy his hospitality and that of his tribe to the end of your days. You see, the Siccani will not show themselves to strangers except in battle, and even then their chiefs wear wooden masks and the warriors paint their faces until they are unrecognizable.”

“Are they skilled warriors? What weapons do they use? And how many tribes and families are there?” he asked quickly.

Knowing that the Siccanians were watching me, I kicked at the sacks of salt brought by the Etruscan and pretended to inspect the cloth as I replied, “They are useless on the plains, and the sight of a horse or dog fills them with panic. But in their own forests they are incomparable warriors. They make arrowheads of flint and temper the metal tips of their wooden spears in fire. Iron is their most precious metal and they know how to forge it if they can only obtain it.”

To indicate what I meant, I opened a sack of salt and dug out an Etruscan knife and axe blade. When I held them up the entire forest seemed to stir. Xenodotos looked around in amazement, while the Etruscan boxed the ears of his servants and ordered them to hide their faces in the ground. Thereafter he willingly opened the sacks of salt and produced the iron objects that he had smuggled. We sat on the ground to bargain over them.

Soon Xenodotos grew impatient, jingled his pouch and asked, “How much do they cost? I will buy them and give them to the Siccanians so that we may proceed to our matter.”

His stupidity displeased me. Accepting the pouch I said, “Take a walk along the river and watch the flight of the birds with the merchant. Take the servants with you. When you return at midday you will know more about the Siccani.”

He became angry and called me a thief until the Etruscan seized him by the arm and pulled him away. When they had disappeared from sight the Siccanians appeared from the forest, accompanied by members of other tribes, also with their wares. When they saw the iron objects they flung their burdens to the ground and ran back for more. Those who had accompanied me began to dance the Siccanian sun dance in sheer joy.

By midday more than a hundred men had passed by the campfire to leave their wares, to which they had added game, wild ducks, a deer and fresh fish. But still no one touched the merchant’s goods for fear that the Siccanian wares did not suffice as payment. It was the merchant’s responsibility to separate the amount he deemed sufficient to pay for his goods.

To prove my honesty I also showed my tribal brothers the Persian gold coins in Xenodotos’ pouch, but they were not interested. They stared greedily only at the iron objects. I myself chose a razor shaped like a half moon since I needed one for transforming my appearance. It was of the finest Etruscan iron and effortlessly cut even a heavy beard without wounding the skin.

Upon his return Xenodotos saw the trampled area and the heaps of goods around the campfire. Now he believed me when I said that I could call forth a hundred or even a thousand Siccanians from the forest if need be. I explained that no one knew the total number of Siccanians, not even they themselves, but if it became a question of defending the forest against a conqueror, every tree would change into a Siccanian.

“The Siccani retreat only from the path of cultivated land, villages and cities,” I explained. “They will not begin a war of their own volition even against the Elymi. If they raid the Siculian and Elymian settlements in small groups, they are content to steal only a few goats and do not willingly kill anyone. But if the Segestan soldiers push their way into the forest with their dogs, the Siccani kill everyone they meet and in the most brutal manner.”

When he had had time to ponder on my words I returned his pouch and said, “I have counted your money and you have eighty-three gold coins of Darius as well as silver coins of various Greek cities. Apparently you don’t care to carry copper, so that even as a slave you are a noble. But keep your money. You cannot buy me for such a small sum. You may have my knowledge as a gift since it will probably rebound to the advantage of the Siccani. They would only make jewelry of the coins for their women and would value them no more than a shining feather or a colored stone.”

Innate Ionian greed struggled for a moment with the generosity that he had learned at the court of the Persian king. Then he overcame himself, extended the pouch once more to me and said, “Keep the money as a memento of me and a gift from the Great King.”

I told him that I accepted the money only in accordance with civilized custom, to spare him a refusal. However, I asked him to hold the pouch for me temporarily so that it would not be necessary for me to share its contents with the members of my tribe. Then I accepted some of the iron objects and a quantity of salt and colored cloth for the tribe but permitted the merchant to retain some of his supplies for the other tribes. My own tribe would have been suspicious had I received a better price than usual for their goods.

The Etruscan stored the wares that he had received under bark, and marked the place clearly, knowing that no Siccanian would touch it. Then he had his servants cook the game that the Siccanians had brought in an iron pot, salted it heavily, sacrificed some to his god Turnus, and spread the remainder on sprigs of fir. By then it was evening and he again took Xenodotos and the servants on a walk along the river. This time, however, they went armed, for at dusk the peaceful animals of the forest came to the river to drink and wild beasts lay in ambush. Like any civilized person Xenodotos greatly feared the darkening forest and jumped at every noise, but the merchant promised to shield him from the evil spirits of the Siccani. As evidence he showed the amulets that he wore around his neck and on his wrists, the most important of which was a bronze sea horse, green with mildew.

The sight of it made me tremble, but when the men had departed I signaled the Siccanians. They appeared silently, gulped down the salty food and peacefully shared the goods according to the needs of each. The priest of the tribe had come to view the strangers from curiosity but chose nothing for himself, since he knew that he could always obtain whatever he needed and did not wish to burden himself unnecessarily.

I said to him, “The stranger accompanying the merchant comes from the east beyond the sea and has good intentions toward the Siccani. He is my friend and inviolable. Protect him on his journey through the forests. He is a clever man among his own kind but in the forest a snake may bite his buttock if he steps from the path to take care of his needs.”

“Your blood is our blood,” conceded the priest, and I knew that unseen eyes would watch over Xenodotos and that the youths of the tribe-would protect him from all danger as he accompanied the merchant on his round.

The Siccanians picked up their goods and disappeared as silently as they had come while I remained by the glowing embers of the fire. The forest darkened, the night cooled and the fish made glimmering circles in the river. I heard the cooing of wood doves ceaselessly until finally a whole flock fluttered into flight just above me so that I felt the breath of air from their wings.

That was the final sign. Sated and content, I knew that all was well. Artemis as Hecate had fulfilled her promise and Aphrodite jealously wished to indicate that she had not abandoned me either.

I remembered my guardian spirit’s winged body of fire, and at that moment it seemed as though she were within arm’s reach. My heart glowed and I extended my arms to embrace her. Then, on the border between slumber and wakefulness, I felt the touch of slender fingertips on my bare shoulder and knew that she also had given me her sign although she could not appear because I was unprepared. Never have I experienced anything more glorious than the touch of my guardian Spirit’s fingertips on my shoulder. It was like the flick of a flame.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62