Diana Sanders

Whispers

The little boy seemed to float, he was so sure footed as he climbed the dangerous riverbank. He was slight and narrow, small for his thirteen years. His white blonde hair glinted in the dappled sunlight. The early evening summer air smelled like honeysuckle and wet earth. He combed the river beds daily, hunting for shiny treasures and interesting stones. He was about to end his hunt for the evening, when he caught a shiny glint from the corner of his slanted, silver blue eyes. The boy picked up the trinket. He used a corner of his green shirt to rub the dirt away. It was a pendant of some sort , silver and heart shaped. He slid it deep in his pocket for protection. Perhaps it would be worth a meal or two in the village up north. His family certainly had no need of such things.