The stitching was crooked, uneven, but it held together well enough for use. She stuffed it with whatever she could manage—some dried chicken jerky, a few medicines, a little food, and a flask of water. Slinging it over her shoulder, she tightened the knot with finality.
She had decided. She would go on her own.
Three or four days was too long to wait.
When Kaya stepped outside, the sun was already high and glaring. Thank God she had left early—any later, and its heat would have burned her skin raw. Even now, the warmth pressed against her shoulders, making her squint as she adjusted the strap of her crookedly sewn bag.
She set her eyes on the direction she remembered from the sparrow's flight—the road that wound past the side of the cave—and began to walk. The path was steep, forcing her body to lean forward for balance. Each step dislodged loose stones that clattered down the slope. A few sharp ones bit into her sandals, scraping her feet until she hissed in pain.
