“Of course, not a single villager had thought to set a fire on her hearth. Not one person had brought her supper, despite the fact that she’d spent the entire day at the Tree, stretching her powers landward, struggling to commune with the oak’s earth-power, harnessing the air-power that hovered between the Tree and its woodstars. She sighed in exhaustion, even as a swirl of thoughts drifted into her consciousness from other woodsingers, from the women who had gone before her. “The People never r...ealize the sacrifices I make,” whispered one old crone, her tremulous voice captured forever in the woodsingers’ communion with the Tree. “Would it be so hard for them to lay a fire?” asked another of Alana’s predecessors. “Couldn’t they set out some food? I don’t need fresh-baked bread—anything, really, after a long day tending the Tree….” Alana took some grudging comfort in the fact that she was not the first woodsinger to be slighted by the People. In fact, she managed to think in a moment of lucidity, the People were not mean, or even lazy.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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