The Time Of The Transferance

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“Jon-Tom, there’s someone in the tree.”

From the abyss of deep rest he replied. “Huh—what?”

Feminine fingers imprinted themselves on the flesh of his shoulder. “I said there’s someone in the tree” The voice was sharp, melodious, familiar, as well it should have been.

Extending himself mightily, he opened one eye. Moonlight gilded the branches of his home and those of the bell trees that surrounded the glade of oaks. Morning was conspicuous by its absence, nor was there any indication that the sun intended to put in an appearance any time soon. He listened intently.

“Go back to sleep, Talea.” He turned over slowly. “There’s no one in the tree.”

“Not our tree, idiot!”she whispered huskily. “Old hard-shell’s tree.”

“Of course there’s someone inside Clothahump’s tree.”

He told his mind to go back to sleep. His subconscious laughed at him. “Clothahump and Sorbl.”

“The wizard sleeps the sleep of the dead and I know what Sorbl sounds like when he’s drunk. This is different, Jon-Tom. Trust me, I know sounds in the night.”

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