“The woods people hear them often. It means,” he said with a smile, “that you and I are initiated into the Immortal Fellowship.”
“Oh!” in a whisper, almost of awe.
“Yes,” he reassured her gaily, “you belong to the Clan of Mak-wa, the Bear, and Kee-way-din, the North-Wind. The trees are keeping watch. Nothing can harm you now.”
Her eyes lifted to his, and a hesitating smile suddenly wreathed her lips.
“You’re very comforting,” she said, in a doubtful tone which showed her far from comforted. “I really would try to believe you,” with a glance over her shoulder, “if it wasn’t for the menace of the silence when the voices stop.”
“The menace——”
“Yes. I can’t explain. It’s like a sudden hush of terror—as though the pulse of Nature had stopped beating—was waiting on some immortal decision.”
“Yes,” he assented quietly, his gaze on the fire. “I know. I felt that, too.”
“Did you? I’m glad. It makes me more satisfied.”
She was sitting up on her bed of twigs now, leaning toward him, her eyes alight with a strange excitement, her body leaning toward his own, as she listened. The firelight danced upon her hair and lit her face with a weird, wild beauty. She was very near him at that moment—spiritually—physically. In a gush of pity he put his hand over hers and held it tightly in his own, his voice reassuring her gently.