"Did you really think that little melody would stay buried in the stone forever?" the woman asked, reaching up with both hands to push the heavy linen hood away from her face.
She had rich, sun-baked brown skin, sharp cheekbones softened by a warm expression, and thick curls woven with tiny dried mountain flowers. Her eyes were as deep and green as a pine forest after a rainstorm. Even standing in plain traveller robes with grey dust clinging to her hem, she looked ancient and solid, like the bedrock under our boots had decided to stand up and speak to us.
She froze when her gaze landed on Orisyl.
Orisyl stepped forward, moving past Malachi and me. With her shortened dark hair, hazel eyes, and plain travel clothes, she looked like a regular seventeen-year-old girl, but the way she carried her chin gave her away immediately. The two of them stood in the canyon wind for several seconds, neither one making a sound.
