“It is not uncommon, that,” said Janni, coming up beside them, “When first I rode into the mountains, I felt as if they were closing in, as if, while I slept, they might move in and jostle my very skirts. Now I am used to them, but still, when I ride down into the plains, I feel as if a great weight has been lifted and I can breathe more easily. I think that, more than all kings or customs, divides hillman from lowlander; and I have heard Orain say as much, that whenever he was away from his mountains, he felt naked and afraid under the open sky….”
She could almost hear him say it, in that gentle, half-teasing tone. She still missed Orain, his easy companionship, it seemed she was like a fish in a tree among all these woman! Their very voices grated on her, and it seemed to her sometimes that in spite of their skill with sword and horsemanship, they were far too much like her sister Mallina, silly and narrow-minded. Only Janni seemed free of the pettiness she had always found in women. But was that only because Janni was like Orain, and so less like a woman? She did not know and felt too sore to think much about it. .
Yet, she thought with annoyance at herself, forty days ago I was thinking that I liked the company of men even less than that of women. Am I content nowhere? Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have? If I am going to be always discontented, I might as well have stayed home and married Dom Garris and been discontented in comfort among familiar things!
She felt the gentle, inquiring touch of the boy’s laran on her mind; as if he asked her what was the matter. She sighed and smiled at him, and asked, “Shall we race across this meadow? Our horses are well-matched, so it win only be a matter of which is the better horseman,” and they set off side by side, so rapidly that it took all her attention not to tumble off headlong, and she had to stop thinking about what troubled her. She reached the appointed goal a full length ahead of him, but Janni, coming up more slowly, scolded them both impartially – they did not know the terrain, they might have lamed their horses on some unseen rock or small animal’s burrow in the grass!
But that night, as they were making camp – the days were lengthening now perceptibly, it was still light when they had eaten supper – she had again the sharp sense that she was being watched, as if she were some small animal, prey huddling before the sharp eyes of a hovering hawk – she scanned the darkening sky, but could see nothing. Then, incredulous, a familiar sense of wildness, flight, contact, rapport – hardly knowing what she did, Romilly thrust up her hand, felt the familiar rush of wings, the grip of talons.
“Preciosa!” she sobbed aloud, feeling the claws close on her bare wrist. She opened her eyes to look at the bluish-black sheen of wings, the sharp eyes, and the old sense of closeness enveloped her. Against all hope, beyond belief, Preciosa had somehow marked her when she came out of the glacier country, had trailed her even through these unfamiliar hills and plains.
She was in good condition, sleek and trim and well-fed. Of course. There was better hunting on these plains than even in the Kilghard Hills where she was fledged. Wordless satisfaction flowed between them for a long space as she sat motionless, the hawk on her hand.
“Well, will you look at that!” the voice of one of the girls broke through the mutual absorption, “Where did the hawk come from? She is bewitched!”
Romilly drew a long breath. She said to Caryl, who was watching silently, rapt, “It is my hawk. Somehow she has followed me here, so far from home, so far-” and broke off because she was crying too hard to speak. Troubled by the emotion, Preciosa bated, trying to balance on Romilly’s fist; flapped her wings and flew to the branches of a nearby tree, where she sat looking down at them without any sign of fear.