“What’s she like?” Ceryane asked, with a nod
at the door of the cabin. She sat at my table with her feet propped
up on the chair beside her. She meant Makena.
I shrugged. Since I first met Makena, there
was something between us that couldn’t be put into words. She was
more than my neophyte—her thoughts and actions were so like mine,
it scared me at times. It was as if our souls were the same, two
halves in separate bodies. When we sparred, we each knew the
other’s moves before we made them. And we could sit in silence for
long hours that rushed by like a rapid brook, each comfortable with
the other. Our relationship was nothing like Ceryane’s and mine had
been—underneath her tough exterior, Ceryane had a quick wit, and
when we were together in the old days, we had always laughe
