The Seer by Rowan McAllister (reading comprehension books .TXT) 📕

all cold and damp. I think we can risk getting a little closer than this.”

He returned to Shura and took Horse’s reins.

“Let’s get going. I’ll explain on the way.”

This time, Ravi followed them as they trudged upward around a newly planted field toward the farm. When they neared the outbuildings, Daks kept his senses opened for any tingle of magic from Ravi—or from anyone else for that matter—but luckily nothing surfaced. Perhaps the gods were finally going to give them a break, though he didn’t dare say it out loud.

He’d explained the situation to the two women as they walked, while Ravi remained mute behind them. Shura had quickly agreed keeping Ravi away from others was the safer course, and Fara had only given Ravi an uneasy glance before nodding her acceptance as well. The woman was going to have to get over her obvious distaste for all things magical before she reached Scholoveld, or at least learn to school her expressions better. Her face showed way too much of what she was feeling, and the High Council would eat her alive.

Not my business, he reminded himself again.

RAVI COLLAPSED on the first bale of hay he found in the small barn Daks led him into, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself and hunkering down. He was so tired, he’d probably sleep for a week when they finally reached Samebar… if they ever reached it.

He’d assumed living in near-constant fear of his Visions for the last ten years and scratching out a meager existence on the streets of Rassat would have hardened him enough to make this journey, but he’d been so very wrong. He missed his found family. He missed the familiar places and people that made up his second home, such as it was. He even missed the smell of the city, which he never would have thought possible.

The others were talking quietly amongst themselves, but he didn’t bother to listen. They were the ones who’d deal with the family. He was so far out of his depth his input wouldn’t be of much use anyway. And right now he was the most problematic; best to just keep his head down.

“We’re going in to talk to the family, before they come in search of us.”

Daks’s voice coming from right above him shook him out of his thoughts enough to nod in acknowledgment before curling up and closing his eyes again. He probably shouldn’t risk sleep, but he could rest quietly until hopefully someone brought him something to eat. He had a long, lonely night ahead of him.

“Ravi?”

He jolted awake, his heart racing. A large shadow loomed over him, backlit by flickering lamplight. He blinked, and Daks’s scarred face came into focus. His normally shaggy hair was wet and combed flat against his head, making him look a little less disreputable than usual. Although that impression was probably sweetened by the bowl of steaming stew the man held out to him.

Ravi took the bowl and greedily shoveled a heaping spoonful into this mouth, mumbling a quick “Thank you” around chunks of potato, meat, and carrots in a thick, delicious gravy. He should take his time and savor the meal. He hadn’t eaten anything this good in a long time. But he couldn’t seem to stop cramming more in.

“You keep eating that fast, you’re going to get a stomachache,” Daks warned as he settled on the bale next to his.

He held out a chunk of bread, dripping in butter, possibly as incentive to heed his words, and Ravi stopped inhaling the stew long enough to accept it with another murmured thanks. Daks was probably right. He might regret eating this much later, but it sure felt like a tiny slice of Quanna’s gardens in the Beyond right now.

“There’s plenty more where that came from. Vasin, Maran’s uncle, has been quite generous. His harvest last year was apparently outstanding, so we needn’t feel bad taking what’s on offer,” Daks said as he eased back against a post and stretched out his legs.

“He’s all right with us here?” Ravi managed between slower bites.

Daks nodded. “Mostly because of Fara. It’s her mission he sympathizes with. But that’s good enough for me. Once you’ve eaten, I have a bucket of warm water and some soap and flannels for you to wash. They’ve agreed to clean and mend your clothes at the house, so they’ve sent along some spares for you to change into.”

He nodded toward a small pile of cloth and a covered wooden bucket on the ground. Ravi eyed it uncertainly as he finished mopping up the last of the stew with his bread, feeling shame heat his cheeks. The clothes weren’t rich or ostentatious, just serviceable linen and wool—probably someone’s hand-me-downs—but their quality far outstripped his own thin, ragged, patched, and stained garments. Maran’s family would likely prefer to burn whatever he gave them, if he agreed. Honestly, his clothes might disintegrate with a strong washing at this point anyway.

“I’ll wash and see to my clothes,” he said. “If they can provide needle and thread, I can tend to my own things.”

Daks sighed and sat up. “They’re not going to steal your clothes, Ravi. They’re mending my torn tunic now. I can tell you, they do good work, and they seem happy to ‘contribute to the cause’ in whatever way they can. You should let them.”

“Do they know what I am?” Ravi asked, deflecting.

“They do. I personally wouldn’t have shared that bit of information unless I had to. But Fara is apparently of high moral fiber so….” He shrugged.

He’d said that last as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth, and Ravi had to fight a small smile. He didn’t always appreciate the man’s pragmatism—and definitely not his partner’s—but it was useful where Mistress Sabin’s blind idealism was not.

When Ravi remained silent, Daks huffed and stood up. Ravi didn’t miss the hitch in the man’s breath or the way he favored his side, and he winced in sympathy.

“Look,” Daks