Free Wanderling (Spirit Seeker Book 1) by Hannah Stahlhut Page B

“Surely you
have some sort of insights on them?”
    Tobin tensed as he considered the
possibility that Burano wanted to hunt the Roharian. On occasion, bands of
Wanderlings would accidentally poach on clan territory, and that always meant
blood. Perhaps Burano intended to destroy the nearest clans to get more water
and resources? Tobin couldn’t guess. “I know enough to realize that crossing
them would mean the end of our village,” he responded carefully.
    Burano leaned forward, “Gods no, I
would never presume to have enough manpower to fight them. On the contrary, I
hope to make peace with them.”
    Tobin relaxed a little, though he
smiled in amusement at the thought of Burano making peace with the Roharian
people. The only way to make peace with them was to stay out of their way.
    “Do you speak the language still,
Tobin?” Burano asked. “I remember when you returned from your travels in the
desert, you could hardly speak Bolgish anymore. Have you lost the skill, my
boy?”
    Tobin sensed that this question
was the real reason he was invited to speak with his commander. He looked down
at the map that covered the table and saw the line of the mountain range, then
the desertlands beyond. He wants an interpreter to make peace, he thought. A fool’s errand.
    “I speak it a little,” Tobin
fibbed. “It’s been six years; I don’t remember much.”
    “But you remember some. Good.”
Burano clasped his hands together in satisfaction. “I hope that I can call on
you in you in the future if I have the need. You will be a valuable resource
for our community, and I am sure you could pick it back up with a little work.”
    Tobin swallowed, uncomfortable
with Burano’s confidence in him. No amount of interpreting could unite the
Roharian people, surely. He itched to inquire about Burano’s plans, but thought
better of it. Instead, he said his thanks and let himself out of the
commander’s quarters, blood pounding in his ears.
    The sun was low in the sky as he
made his way through rows of tents and shanties to the tent that he shared with
Sarah, his sister. His mind was still racing with thoughts about Adala, Shem,
and his bizarre conversation with Burano when he ducked through the front flap
of the tent.
    “You’re home early!” Sarah
exclaimed from where she sat at her loom.
    Tobin smiled to see her bright,
dimpled face, framed by wavy locks that were the envy of other girls her age.
Sarah was a little fairer-skinned than him and looked older than her twelve
years, her long limbs stretching more every day it seemed.
    Tobin greeted his sister, “I have
good news.”
    “The Lord of Gerstadt has come to
town and wants to whisk us away to the golden seaside city?” Sarah teased,
grinning from ear to ear.
    “Not that good,” Tobin said,
setting down his bag. “I have boots for you,” he said, pulling out the pair he
had taken from Adala earlier that day.
    Sarah jumped up from her weaving
with a squeal. “Really?” she asked, rushing to hold the boots to her chest.
“They’re wonderful,” she said. “There’s room to grow into them, and they look
like they will last a long time.” She hastily sat down on the dirt ground to
pull on the new boots.
    Tobin grinned, taking a seat on
the ground. They had no furniture to speak of in their little canvas tent, just
homemade straw mattresses covered with threadbare blankets, Sarah’s loom, and a
few old wooden dishes in a crate, but Sarah always did what she could to make
it a home. Little desert flowers and cactus blooms hung in wreaths from the
ceiling, and she had painted the canvas of one tent wall with different types
of clay, creating a mural of swirled designs that brightened the tiny tent.
    “Wait a second,” Sarah said, her
expression changing to suspicion. “Where did you get these boots?”
    “From the Gerstadt shipment,”
Tobin lied. “Jarod and his men came back today, and those boots were too small
for the soldiers, so they let me take them