CHAPTER 17
George drove west in silence, wondering how his gift was being received by Angharad. He poked around trying to flush some reaction from Cernunnos by thinking about his father—anything to get a response—but it was as though there were no one else home inside his head, something he was beginning to fear.
Would I even know if he left? There I’d be with the pack at Nos Galan Gaeaf wondering where he was, he thought, in a black humor. And to think I used to enjoy my privacy.
He glanced at Benitoe, gazing out the window at the active farms along the road. Some were owned by Amish or Mennonites, and it was usually a thrill to see the horse teams at work, four or six or eight in harness together, but nothing much lifted his mood today.
The road rose up into the start of the pass ove
