The next morning, I had an idea. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to me last night during dinner. I found Bren in the large cabin reserved for parentless children. She had just herded them out the door toward the commons.

"Bren?"

Her eyebrows shot up when she saw it was me. "Yes, dear, what is it?"

"I think I may not be completely useless after all. I used to pick herbs with my mother, and she taught me how to weave and make baskets. Would that be valuable here?"

"Bless your mother," she replied with a smile. "Yes, that would be very useful here."

For the second time in two days, I grinned.

"Remi will be going hunting later. Tag along with him until you get to know the forest better. Wouldn't want you getting lost."

I nodded and went back to my cabin, beaming.

During the night I had returned the items I had stolen. Now the roll leaned in the corner, a reminder of my hasty departure from the Zurbo compound. I looked at it a long time, then decided that I wouldn't need it anymore. I seemed to have a place here now, however tenuous.

It felt strange to unroll it and toss the hides onto my bed. I laid the mat down onto the wooden floor, and it was once again just a floor mat. I gleaned a slight amount of comfort knowing that, if I needed to, I could pack it up again and leave. I wasn't sure if I dared to call this place home yet.

I looked forward to my outing with Remi with both anticipation and dread. I wanted to learn more about the enigmatic boy who shared the same captive past I did. I wondered what role his captors had relegated him to. On the other hand, his eyes always seemed to see everything about me. I feared he might eventually see into my soul and find all its secrets. Secrets I needed to keep hidden.

We left shortly after breakfast in a seemingly random direction. Remi never felt the need to fill the silence with idle chatter, and I was glad for it. I was able to think my thoughts, observe our surroundings, and watch him work.

He walked carefully, a bow slung across his back with a quiver of arrows. As we made our way through the trees, he examined the ground or listened for noises. I stopped when he stopped, and so it went.

He sighted one of the red-coated squirrels common in the forest, jabbering in a tree. Removing the bow from his back, he nocked an arrow and aimed.

My hands wrung the handle of the gathering basket. I wanted him to succeed, but I also didn't want the squirrel to die. I took a step back, not wanting to see the kill, and stepped on a twig. It snapped just as he loosed the arrow, and the squirrel scampered out of sight. The arrow sank into the side of the tree, high above the ground.

He turned and looked at me, brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." He climbed the tree that held his arrow, reaching for branches and easily scrambling up its length as if he himself had been a squirrel. After yanking the arrow out, he returned it to his quiver and jumped from branch to branch, back down to the ground.

"You really are half monkey," I said, wide eyes following every leap. "Where were you when I was bumbling around a tree like a buffalo scratching an itch?" And then I remembered. He had actually been close by. Watching.

He ducked his head, knowing exactly where my mind had gone.

"Remi, I need to know."

He rubbed the back of his neck and peered up at a tree to avoid looking at me as he spoke. "I saw the smoke. Big, thick clouds of it. I went to the tree line and climbed to see what was happening, if there might be any danger to Foresthome. And then I saw you running."

My mouth opened with alarm. He saw me from the beginning.

"You were wet and bloody, and running for your life, carrying that roll that was almost as big as you were." His voice was subdued, eyes focused on the memory. "I thought maybe I should help, but I didn't know you, or anything about you, other than you came from tribe Zurbo. One of the ruthless tribes."

"So you just . . . watched me. Bleeding to death."

"Only you didn't. You did something. Just before you passed out."

I scowled. "Yes, I stopped the bleeding since no one else would."

"When you were out, I climbed down from the tree to see if you were still alive. The arrow left a nasty wound, but when I looked there was already a scab over it."

"The miracles of medicine." I shifted the basket in my hands.

"Then the next morning—"

"You spent the night in a tree?"

"Yes. I couldn't just leave you there."

"And yet you couldn't help me." My lips pressed together as a sense of betrayal chewed at my raw edges.

Remi couldn't look at me and worried a twig in his hands. "In the morning you were completely healed. You were using that arm again."

I rubbed my eyes, trying to ignore the churning in my stomach. He was so close to the truth. Maybe he already knew. "What are you implying?" My voice was tight with trepidation.

"I think," he said carefully, "you have a gift."

My breath sped up as I gave him a peculiar look. "A gift?"

"You were born with the ability to do something no one else can. Something amazing."

He did know. Except he had used the word amazing instead of abhorrent. I opened my mouth to say something, but my voice had left me.

He leveled his gaze at me, expression guarded. I seemed to be at the mercy of a boy I knew very little about. To deny it further would be pointless when he already knew all the facts. I busied myself with rearranging the few herbs I'd gathered in the basket.

"I have a gift too," he said quietly.

My eyes flew to his, my hand stilling.

"Watch me," he said as he backed away toward a tree. His skin began to change color. Its light tones were replaced with the rough, mottled brown of the tree behind him. Even his clothes changed to match his surroundings. In mere moments, he had almost disappeared. If I hadn't seen where he had gone, I would have completely missed the pair of unchanged eyes watching me.

Hazel. His eyes were hazel. Their hue seemed to reflect the colors of the forest. It was the only thing my befuddled mind could latch onto.

Then he suddenly uncloaked and startled me. I was still too dumbfounded for words. I could only continue staring with disbelief, my mouth catching flies.

"Siena, you don't have to be afraid." He came closer, and his voice was soft, as if speaking to a skittish deer that could bolt at any moment. "We are not Aberrations."

The word made me blink, and I snapped out of my stupor. "Of course we are," I spit out. "We have unnatural skills that we shouldn't have."

"According to whom? The Plainsmen? And what have they ever done for us?"

I frowned at my feet, having no answer.

"The Forestfolk aren't like them. They celebrate the Gifted. That's what we are to them. Individuals with gifts to share and help others with. They call us Gifted, not Aberrations."

I heard him, but the words would not sink in. Aberrations were detested. "You can't tell anyone," I whispered.

"Siena, you don't have to be afra—"

"You can't. Tell. Anyone," I repeated. "Please, Remi. Promise me."

He didn't bother hiding the disappointment in his eyes, but he promised anyway. "Just don't tell Nirrin," he added. "Because then everyone will know."

Despite my distress, my lips curved into a small smile.

Remi smiled too, and stepped close enough to pry one of my hands off the basket. He held it and looked into my eyes. His green-brown gaze and the tender gesture left me breathless.

"You can talk to me," he said. "About anything. I know what it's like to be alone, isolated because of what you were born with."

I nodded, enraptured by his eyes. He held my gaze a moment longer, then let go. I blinked rapidly to recompose myself, frowning at the foreign emotions that seemed to be forming in my gut. Was it perhaps . . . trust?

No. I hadn't trusted anyone since my mother, and it got me this far. It didn't make much sense to change now.