Free The Hawkweed Prophecy by Irena Brignull

the faces on those pages as though they were an alien species, especially the models and celebrities whose loveliness she studied every detail of. Poppy had to stop herself from being scornful. She had to remind herself that Ember didn’t see how they were fawning at the camera; she didn’t realize their eyes were too shiny, skin too smooth, and smiles too forced to be genuine. She didn’t know better. Not about that, or about wars, or starvation, or crime, or climate change. And Poppy didn’t want to be the one to spoil it for her. Let it be lovely for as long as it can , she figured.
    In turn, Ember brought Poppy more books, older ones this time, their paper dry and yellowing, their chapters more dense and detailed. And she brought ingredients, tools, and tonics to make remedies for ailments—cuts and sores, headaches and belly aches, rashes and stings.
    It was like all of Poppy’s birthdays and Christmases rolled into one, only the gifts were just what she wanted, not all those dolls and toys and clothes that had been left untouched and ignored over the years. So Poppy became a chemist of sorts, and for the first time, she felt like she had found her place in the world. For that, she could never thank Ember enough.
    Animals often joined them in the dell, keeping their distance but not at all wary, just going about their business as though Poppy and Ember were merely another part of forest life to be accepted. The hare made an appearance, not coming over but catching Poppy’s eyewhile nibbling at the grasses that sprouted between the strings of an old tennis racket. Then, one day, a flock of birds settled on the branches of the trees all around them and watched them like an audience on high.
    Ember seemed delighted with their arrival. She stood in front of them with her arms held up and muttered strange words that seemed to be her way of trying to tame them. When that had no effect, she began whistling and breaking off bits of bread that she held in her fingers to entice them. She even threw the crumbs in the air in a shower of temptation, but the birds wouldn’t budge.
    â€œI don’t think they’re interested,” Poppy told her, looking up from her work.
    Ember’s face looked so crestfallen that Poppy longed for one of them to fly down to her. The birds called in conversation across the tiny valley, and Ember sang back as if trying to join their gang.
    â€œI’m pathetic,” she finally sighed.
    â€œDon’t say that!”
    â€œIt’s true though.” Ember slumped to the ground, giving up her efforts. Just then a bird, the nearest to her, flapped from its perch and swooped down and pecked at the bread at her feet. Ember gasped, and Poppy could see she was so stunned that she dared not speak. Poppy smiled and Ember beamed back at her. Twitching its tail feathers, the bird fluttered upward and landed on Ember’s head. “Oh,” she cried. “It’s the first time this has happened to me!” Then she saw the confusion cross Poppy’s face and quickly added, “My family, they like birds.” The bird skipped down onto Ember’s shoulder. “Oh, how I wish they could see this!” She held out her arm, and the bird hopped along it before taking tothe air and retiring to the treetops. “I think it’s you,” Ember announced, and Poppy blinked, then felt her body tense. “You’re my lucky charm.”
    Poppy’s smile returned to her face. “I’ve never been called that before.”
    But Ember was full of insistence. “It’s you! How I wish I could take you home with me.”
    â€œMe too,” Poppy replied softly. “It’s not me, though. It’s this place. There’s something magical about it, don’t you think?”

    As the mellow autumn afternoons turned colder and darker, Poppy busied herself dissecting and experimenting while Ember lay back, her eyes soaking in