Page 7 - My FlipBook

Laurel Gale

The tingling on her neck faded. The listener was getting
bored. Soon, it would get angry.

Kaya tried to recall some of the stories Hob had told, but
she couldn’t think of any that would work. It wouldn’t have
mattered anyway. Listeners didn’t care for repeats.
They cared even less for unfinished stories. You couldn’t
address a listener and then not satisfy it. Everyone knew

that. Not even Hob disputed it. The invisible beings held great
power, and they were not to be annoyed.
Kaya needed a story.
She needed it to include words that could make the bread
rise.
What had she said already? The world in the story was

horrible because . . . because . . . because . . .
“Because it was always night there!” she said—yelled,
really, excited that an idea had finally come to her. In a lowered
voice, she continued. “Kalla had never seen the sun. She didn’t
even know it existed.”

The pleasant tingling returned. The listener was happy—
for now.
“So Kalla was very sad and lonely because she had no light
and no friends. There were only blood wolves that hunted in
packs and spiders that crawled at her feet, and she was always
scared and cold.

“One day—uh, night, I mean, because it was always night—a
visitor came to her world. He was Hom, a generous man, and
he had the power to control the skies. ‘Rise!’ he said, and the
sun rose. Kalla’s world became bright and beautiful, and it was

10

8/12/20 5:44 PM
JFP_STOR_FPGS.indd 10
JFP_STOR_FPGS.indd 10 8/12/20 5:44 PM