He concentrated on his own transaction, listening to the storm gathering pace. Shutters were crashing against the walls like rifle shots. The staff behind the counters were looking anxiously at each other, waiting for the word to go down to the cellar and sit it out. If only this fat man would hurry up and get lost. The woman wafted behind him and out of the door. Leaving the bank his first sense was not of noise, or even of wind, but of light. The onrushing storm, gathering pace, had stolen the day. It was blacker than midnight across two thirds of the sky, the brittle line between night and daylight moving at a car’s pace over his head. The wind had slackened off to that unnerving calm, which just precedes the full unleashing of the fury. He knew he was in trouble. Home was five minutes away. He looked across the street, but all he could see were shutters, closed doors, and dust, driving down the main street towards him. Behind it, and coming on fast, he could see the whipped tail. She assumed the clothes she wore, like other things, would be returned to their owner eventually. “His men will make the delivery shortly.” “Yes,” Iona repeated. Brenna began to worry. The poor child sounded unusually confused and a little daft. Brenna hoped that whatever was racing through Iona’s mind would be figured out. Problems were quickly established. To Brenna’s distaste, the girl hid food. Brenna knew from experience that this was something the girl would have to solve for herself in due time. She knew that Iona would come to know that there was no need for such behavior. What bothered her most was that rodents also sought warmth from the cold. Brenna also noticed that certain things disappeared. If small weapons were left lying around by the men that frequented the Long House, the girl collected them and then looked innocent when inquiries were made. As of yet, Brenna had not discovered that stash. She was quite sure that it was growing. Upon Kieren’s arrival, she would.
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