Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

and without any progress. I’ve ventured northeast and southwest to settle my doubts this isn’t just some ruse Graytu manifested. There must be some other way up this wall, but I haven’t found it yet. I will continue to work at the riddle of the crossing for now, but I may have to deem it uncrossable. Is that what father would do? Would he conquer this obstacle, or would he back down and find an alternate route that inevitably gets him closer to his goal?

“Humiliation is the acorn. You are the squirrel perched in the age-old oak. You can certainly obtain it, yet if you lose it in your haste to bury it, nothing will be gained.” A galling voice calls out that belongs to none other than Graytu. A silhouette stands in the entrance of my hollow.

“I already know how easy it is to be humiliated. That damned ape made sure of that. And then Zoie, playing games with me among the catwalks. So, what are you jabbering about, and how is it going to help me succeed?”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I reply sharply to crush his doubt. I’m not confident it’ll work, though.

“You are a tree, soft on the inside and hard on the outside. Learn from that and you will succeed. Use your Instincts. Listen. Your talents are limitless. Today is the day.” He sets down a tray of fruit and nuts. “Eat.” And exits my small hollow.

Chippie rips from his shoulder and leaps onto the fruit tray. I nearly leap from my linens. My immediate thought to seize him and hurl him outside. He snatches a bushel of grapes and bounds onto my chest. I whip my arms at him, but he’s too quick. He drops the grapes and scurries off. “What was that about?” I mutter to myself.

I’m coming to understand why Zoie offered me that bow. The villagers are generous in providing sufficient meals every day, but it’s always from a tree or a bush. I can count the steaks I’ve eaten on one hand—even if I were a clumsy butcher who’s taken a few of his own fingers. And on those rare occasions, I’m certain it was an assortment of small rodent—something lesser and filthier than Chippie.

I recall the words Graytu left me with. His gibberish is irksome and relentless as I continue to hear those same words over and over. Today is the day, he says morning after morning. He has declared it every morning since my arrival. He might believe he’s trying to help, but he’s not. I doubt even he understands the prattle that escapes his tongue. Why is he comparing me to a tree? Maybe Stone was right about me coming here. Am I wasting my time with this hunt for Old Lady Windblown?

I crawl from my bed of leaves, which is surprisingly comfortable—or maybe it’s just the large quantities of wine I’ve been drinking—and I pull up my trousers and put on my jerkin.

“A tree…soft on the inside and hard on the outside?” I ponder aloud. True for some maybe, but not the strongest of them. I muse over it long enough to consume the majority of the breakfast tray.

I mock it, but the fruit tray, full of exotic fruits and nuts, is beyond satisfying. These Redcliffe villagers have only been generous while I take and take. I don’t understand their openhandedness. They have no reason to help me, but they do so willingly.

After readying myself for the day, I set out to visit a few of the villagers who have befriended me during my time here. Fairview’s treetop abode is my first stop on the far outskirts of the treetop village. I have yet to determine whether that is her surname or her birth name. When we first met, I was too distracted by her personality to inquire about it, and now I feel ashamed to ask. She is an older woman with the spunk of a youth. From what I’ve gathered thus far, she’s a woman capable of enlightenment or destruction from a mere whisper of her tongue. And not a woman I want to show any inadequacies around.

“Hello, Fairview. I hope the morning hours are treating you well,” I greet her as I rap on the jamb of her open doorway.

She remains seated in her armchair. Her rust-colored eyes lack their stark emerald sparkle this morning, and the wrinkles around them are hanging heavy. Her silver-white, shoulder-length hair is as brilliant as her youthful smile, which tells me she remains in good health despite her weariness. A woman of her seasoning leaves you wondering which day will be her last.

“The morning hours are never good to me in my old age. That is, until a bright presence such as yourself shines upon them.”

She gives an inveigling wink that makes me squirm. Pleasing to the eye roughly eighty seasons ago maybe, but she’s far too old to be acting with the same decorum as an adolescent.

“So,” she continues, “Goose Greyson, what did I do to deserve your company this morning?”

“I thought I’d come by to thank you for the nutritious breakfast before suffocating myself within Graytu’s riddles.”

“There’s no need for thanking. These old bones did none of the picking nor did they make the short trip to deliver them. It was merely a gesture.” She brushes past the topic. “So, you’re back at it, are you? Did Graytu enlighten you with one of his motivational speeches this morning?”

“I’ll relish the day he doesn’t. He mentioned something about being a tree. And as usual his words mean nothing to me.”

“Ah. I see. I know the old coot may be taxing at times with the many ramblings that come off his tongue, but Graytu is no fool. He’s a man who only speaks when he has something to say. A man of wisdom…most often. And don’t you go pattering