Chapter 11 #2
“Tell me this,” he finally panted. “You can be brave for everyone else. You can be fake-sweet and friendly toward all of them. But at least be honest with yourself, Periwinkle, when the feelings aren’t so pretty.
” He paused, dragging a hand through his hair.
“And be honest with me.” Weaver’s shoulders shook with the effort of his breathing, eyes glittering like black stars.
His lashes were thick enough to cast a shadow in the moonlight.
Periwinkle sighed, feeling suddenly tired. Not wrung out, but like she’d eaten a large meal and read a long book and was ready for a nap. It was a deep, contented feeling.
“Okay,” she finally said. Then they turned toward home.
That night, when Weaver followed Periwinkle inside, he knew where to set his things. His cot was neat, just as he’d left it. While Periwinkle flopped face-first onto her bed, Weaver poured her a cup of the tea she’d left frost-brewing all day and put together a winter salad for dinner.
“Wake up, Sparkles,” he said, setting down their food and nudging her leg with his own. “Time to talk plans.”
“I’m not asleep,” she said into her duvet. “Just. You know. Thinking about it.” But Weaver bumped her leg again, and Periwinkle finally sat up. Weaver started in on his dinner.
“So,” he said, chewing a forkful of salad. “The Drift. Us. Tomorrow.”
“The Drift,” Periwinkle agreed slowly. She moved her plate in front of her, then seemed to forget it was there. “Yes. I think we have to start there. Although I don’t know how we’ll find the workshop inside. I don’t know anyone who’s gone into the Drift, not ever.”
Weaver finished chewing another bite, then hauled the dream-talent book out of his bag and turned to the page on the magic tools.
“Our first problem is that we still don’t know what to do with chase the dreams. Not very specific.
Though it also says the workshop’s near the center of the forest, and at least that’s something.
” He paused. “Sparkles, where is the Keeper getting his information? What sources is he writing from?”
Periwinkle shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought all that hard about it,” she said. “Besides the private section he showed me, his office is an entire forest of books. He’s probably got really old records in there on dream-talents.”
“Could we find the books he studied to write this?” Weaver cut in. “Like here, when he talks about where the Bobbin Wood is. It says something about reference 2. Maybe we should try to find it, or some of the other sources he mentions.”
Periwinkle frowned, confused. “But that could take days,” she said. “Listen, the Keeper’s good at his job. Whatever his sources were, I’m sure he wrote down everything important here. We don’t exactly have time to go looking for one snowflake in a flurry.”
“And the only alternative to spending days and days looking is asking him for exactly what we want. Which would tell him everything.” Weaver sighed, obviously not satisfied. Periwinkle couldn’t help feeling puzzled.
“Trust me,” she said. “If it’s important, he wrote it down. If the directions are sort of unhelpful, I’m sure it’s not because he left something out.”
“No,” Weaver said. “I know. I believe you.”
She’d done her best to reassure him. But Weaver only sat back, staring at nothing, not looking reassured at all.
Noticing her plate again, Periwinkle finally began to eat. Then she straightened. “Hey. Where’s Legs?”
Weaver didn’t look up. “He stayed at the workshop,” he said, bending toward the book again. “Chase the dreams and find the center of the forest. We’ll have to make an early start and not waste time.”
“I agree.” Periwinkle nodded. She collected their dishes and took them to the kitchen, then returned to lie back on her bed.
Weaver’s questions had left her with some of her own. But she still felt the way she had when they’d come inside. Full, satisfied, sleepy.
She dimmed her lightcatchers, slid beneath her owl-feather blanket, and pulled it up to her chin. Down beside her wardrobe, one hand propped behind his head, Weaver stretched out on his own pallet. Periwinkle hadn’t noticed before that his heels hung off the bottom.
“I never thanked you for the book,” he said into the dim room.
His voice was gravelly, as if they hadn’t already been speaking for the better part of an hour.
Uncomfortable, too, like he was out of practice with kindness.
“The one you gave me for the Book Flood. I read some more of it last night after you went to sleep, and I liked it. So…thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Periwinkle said. “I hoped it would give you something to do besides stare at me. I’m sure it gets boring, just sitting here alone.”
Weaver said nothing to this. Periwinkle shifted beneath her blanket, uncomfortable.
“Will you stay?” she asked suddenly. She was surprised she asked the question, given his awkward silence a minute before.
But Periwinkle kept going. “You don’t have to wait till morning.
But after I have my dream or my nightmare, will you wake me up to let me know you’ve got it and you’re taking it? ”
Periwinkle always looked forward to dreaming. But she’d gotten used to knowing she wasn’t the only one who had dreams, and she was getting greedy.
It wasn’t enough just to know that someone else could dream. She wanted company, now. She wanted to be able to lean on someone else when her own dreams became too much.
Weaver still didn’t speak, at first. His pallet remained a respectable distance away. But his voice sounded close when he answered.
“Rest,” he told her. “I’ll be here if you wake.”
She had just enough time to wonder if they were the first gentle words he’d said to her before she sank into sleep.