We have to camp outside now, in the
forest. The Foul Wind is definitely blowing harder now. The sky can’t
hold all the grief we are throwing at it. So we settled our tents in
the Trees. Uncle Luke was crying. When I talked to him, he stared at
me with an odd light in his eyes.
“You are supposed to be dead.”
I thought he was saying that the bugs
should have gotten me, but he explained, “I saw you fall to your
death.”
“No, I’m okay. I just missed my
footing.” I insisted. “I’m not dead.”
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