I jotted a few last words down in my journal, recording every detail of the way the final papers were signed, the way Jase had looked, the way I felt, remembering the scent of campfires and meadow and hope, who was there and what they said, and I thought about the way history was made every day in small and large ways, by all kinds of people, every action creating new destinies, even the act of naming an obscure little town. New Fogswallow. The settlement name was finally decided. Caemus and Jase suggested it, and Kerry and the rest of the camp enthusiastically agreed. A bit of the past, a bit of the future. The first new city of Tor’s Watch.
Jase pushed open the tent flap and walked inside. “Mije and Tigone are saddled up and ready.” It was time to go home. The barn and mill were done. The houses were well underway, the stonemasons now laying their foundations.
Jase leaned over where I worked at the desk and swept my hair aside, kissing my neck. “I have a surprise for you when we get home.”
“Jase Ballenger, every day with you is a surprise.”
He peeked over my shoulder. “Getting it all down?”
“Every word.”
“Good,” he whispered. “We have a lot of shelves to fill.”
I closed the book, stuffed it in my saddlebag, and we left to go home.
Who will write our story, Jase?
We will, Kazi. You and I will write our own story.
And side by side, every day, that is what we do.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The nest was abandoned, the jay long dead. The straw and sticks had fallen from the crook of the tree season by season. Lowly thieves, the crow thought, that’s all jays are. But a glint caught the crow’s attention. He circled, eyeing the prize. What had the jay stolen now? Something colorful and shiny.
It was too good to pass up. It would look impressive in his nest too. He pecked it loose from the weave of sticks, then clutched it in his claw before it could fall to the ground. As he flew away, he didn’t notice the stopper was loose. It didn’t really matter. He couldn’t put it back anyway. Even he wasn’t that clever a crow.
Dust slipped from the tiny vial, leaving a nice glittering trail behind him. Some of it floated to the ground; some caught on the wind, swirling upward into the clouds; and some whooshed away on currents traveling to places far beyond Tor’s Watch.
Soon the glitter was far behind him, already forgotten by the crow. All he could think of was how magnificent his nest would be once it held his new shiny prize.