Free Blooms of Consequence (Dusk Gate Chronicles Book 4) by Breeana Puttroff Page B

canvas affair that could easily sleep ten people, maybe more. It was completely dark. “Here,” he said, pulling open a flap in the heavy material, and pointing inside.
     Her stomach dropped at the idea. She had no idea who or what might be in the huge tent. In the clearing, she could see the faint glow of lanterns inside other tents, but they were several yards away from her. This tent was completely dark. She thought about calling out, but then realized she could be putting herself in more danger if she did that. The man hadn’t touched her, at least; for all his lack of concern, he hadn’t actually harmed her. He didn’t even follow her into the tent. He closed the flap behind her, and she could hear him shuffling around just outside, settling down onto the ground right in front of the entrance.
    Inside the tent, it was silent. Using her feet, she felt around near the door. At first, she thought it might be completely empty, but as she fumbled around in the darkness, her hands fell on a bedroll, still rolled, and, even better, a leather pouch filled with water. Not knowing what else to do in the darkness, she sat down on top of the bedroll, taking in her surroundings.
    She unscrewed the top of the pouch, desperate for the water inside, and was just lifting it to her lips when she heard a shuffling sound on the other side of the tent. Her heart nearly stopped. Someone was in here with her.
    Growing completely still, she listened. She could hear breathing – there was more than one person in the tent, though at least one of them was asleep, maybe two. Slow, deep breaths came from the corner opposite of where she was sitting.
    Someone was awake, though – had just awakened, probably from the noise of Quinn entering. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she was surprised she could hear anything at all, but she could. Whoever was across the tent was trying to be quiet – was managing it fairly well, even. She had to strain to hear the soft movements.
    The sloshing of water inside the leather pouch alerted her to the fact that her hands were shaking violently.
    “Hello?” The whisper from across the tent turned her insides into ice. It was at once terrifying, and achingly, comfortingly, familiar.
    “Mom?”
    “Quinn?” The voice was no longer a whisper, but a low rasp.
    “Yes, it’s me.”
    And then there was the sound of shuffling against the ground as her mother nearly ran across the tent to her, pulling her into her arms.
    “Ow, Mom. Careful,” she said, loosening her mother’s grip from her aching shoulder.
    “Why? What’s wrong?” Megan’s voice took on an edge of panic.
    “I just fell and hurt myself on the way here – I’m okay,” she added quickly, although the sudden lightheadedness that overtook her when her mom let go made her think that might not be entirely true. “I’m just going to sit down. I need a drink.”
    Megan sank onto the ground beside her as she sat back down on the rolled blankets, and reached for the water pouch.
    She drank quickly, nearly draining it before she finally stopped.
    “Better?” her mom asked.
    “A little.” This was definitely not the truth. She was no longer thirsty, but she had drunk the water much too quickly, and now nausea rolled through her. “Who else is here?” she asked, more to change the subject than from any ability to feel curious at the moment.
    “Annie and Owen are both asleep over there.”
    She should have been able to process immediately just how bad that was – just what this could mean, especially if Tolliver was in one of these other tents, but right then, she felt too sick to even understand what was going on.
    “Is there any more water?” she asked.
    “Yes. I’ll get you some,” Megan whispered, walking away from her.
    Quinn used the momentary distraction to reach for the cloth around her leg. It was too dark to see what she was doing, but she did what she could by touch. Removing the bandage, she soaked it with what