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Space opera and second chance romance with a grieving hero and space pirates.
After the death of her
ailing father, Jocelyn Navarre Yazzie is free to roam the galaxy in the Star
Condor, the spacecraft she inherited from her deceased husband. She embarks on
a trip to deliver her father’s bequest to her aunt on a rural planet outside the
civilized sectors. A chance encounter with the crippled Leonardo Horlis changes
her future. Leo Horlis suffers from a debilitating malady and expects to live
for less than a year. Josie is strongly attracted to him, yet she cannot hope
to compete with his beautiful dead wife, whose portrait dominates his house and
his memories. Sympathizing with his grief and illness, Josie offers to
transport him in Star Condor to the top medical center of the ultracivilized
inner planets. Their attraction intensifies in the cramped quarters of her
ship. But, Leo has a dangerous secret that threatens to terminate their voyage
and their lives. Can Josie and Leo escape the perils and vanquish the ghosts of
their past to find happiness together?
Book 2, Second Chances in Space
The stories in this series can be read in any order.
Lured by the Lion is available at Aurora's Store
and at Amazon iBooks B&N Kobo GooglePlay Other PRINT
Excerpt from Chapter One
Jocelyn Navarre Yazzie
gazed with pride at the sleek spacecraft parked outside the maintenance hangar
on the spaceport of Eagles Landing. She had inherited Star Condor from her
husband, Jim. The ship held many memories, happy and bitter memories of her
married life. They had flown between the stars as interplanetary couriers,
delivering valuable packages and sometimes people. The Condor had been their
home in the years before Jim had died. Her grief had faded during the
subsequent period, three years and seven months in galactic standard time. She
had ceased to count the days, although nightmares still troubled her sleep.
Tears blurred her visions as she recalled the horror of his death in that
dreadful accident.
Shaking off the surge
of emotions, she blinked away the tears and looked around. A crane lifted a
crate out of a spacetug, while another tug roared skyward, presumably to meet a
freighter in geostationary orbit above the city. Beyond the airfield, heat
shimmered over the orange sands of the desert. In the opposite direction, a
line of passengers hurried onto a shuttle headed for an outbound space cruiser.
Behind the shuttle, the red adobe houses of the city of Eagles Landing rose in
tiers against a backdrop of wooded hills.
A hot breeze whipped
past, sending whirls of sand skittering across the concrete. Fanning her face
to cool her cheeks, Josie hoped her next destination would have a cooler
climate. She had spent one and a half years on the planet of Saffeen, while she
tended to her father during his final illness.
A door clanged shut as
Butch Sullivan stepped out of the workshop of the hangar. He walked across to
stand beside her.
Looking at the Star
Condor, he said, “She looks good.” A typical understatement from the gruff old
man who loved the ship. Butch served as engineer and odd-jobs man on the
Condor’s small crew. His broken nose and scarred temple attested to a long and
varied career. He had remained with her after Jim’s death. His dark hair was
now grizzled and he had developed a slight paunch, yet she could still rely on
his muscular strength and sensible advice.
“Yep.” Her mild reply
covered her distracted thoughts. She teetered at a crossroads in her life,
recovering from yet another family death and a long debate over what to do or
where to go next. Her responsibilities for her father’s estate were almost at
an end. She could remain on her home world with its many civilized comforts or
she could resume her ventures in space. The sight of her ship, Star Condor,
spurred a burning desire to abandon the planet for the freedom of plying the
star routes.
The roar of a
spacecraft descending onto the adjacent field penetrated her reverie. The
once-bustling spaceport at Eagles Landing had grown quieter after the local
economy had gone into a nosedive. The emperor’s space fleet had blocked the
major hyperspace routes to the inner systems and throttled trade for
independent planets like Saffeen. Jim had not lived long enough to experience
the slowdown. Nor had her father.
After Jim’s death, she
had worked the star lanes for a couple of years until she learned of her
father’s illness. She felt obliged to return to the family home. Lucius Navarre
was not the easiest man to live with, however, she was the only relative with
the freedom to manage his medical needs and run the household during his final
months. His death had come as a relief after the agonizing decline in his
mental and physical health.
Her sister, Annabelle,
had come to the funeral with her husband, Doctor Fengal Sharma, and their
six-month-old son, Lucian. As the sole surviving children, Josie and Annabelle,
inherited the major part of their father’s estate. Josie had splurged a large
portion of her credits on Star Condor. She had upgraded the ship’s drive and
renovated the life support and com systems. Reliable sources of power, oxygen
and water were essential for interstellar space travel. Despite the quandary
about her future, she had refurbished the cabins and galley. Even if she
decided to forgo the star lanes and settle in her father’s mansion, the
upgrades would bring a better price for the ship.
“Will we be making a
long voyage, Captain Josie?” Butch asked.
His polite reference to
her status made her smile. “We’ll fly to the planet of Wick’s Paradise. I
promised to deliver an old vase to Aunt Gabrielle. It’s one of my dad’s weird
bequests. And, my aunt’s invited me to stay for a week or two.” She shrugged.
“After that, I’m not sure. Maybe Hokkaido. My sister’s always begging me to
visit her.”
“Don’t matter where we
go. Just want to order sufficient provisions for the trip.”
She nodded. “Why don’t
you estimate supplies for three or four months. That’ll cover a stay on Wick’s
Paradise and we can travel to another couple of planets.”
“Will do.” He waved a
hand at the ship. “She’ll be a pleasure to run with the new systems. But, we’ll
need another hand.”
The Star Condor, a
small craft with simple controls, could be run by a single person in a pinch.
Only one such emergency had occurred during Josie’s time on the ship. A single
person could manage for a short trip, but three people working shifts allowed
everyone enough time for sleep. Operating with alert crew on the bridge was
critical for safety on a long voyage.
“No problem,” she said.
“We can hire a second man. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Matter of fact, I do
know of a prospect.” He cocked his head. “Remember Drin? Drin Nega. Guy worked
on the Condor for a couple of seasons when Jim was alive.”
“Yep. Drin was good
with coms and navigation.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Does he need a new job?”
“He’s looking for one.
Had a bad stint on a cargo ship, disliked the captain. Guy’s not bad. Just
happy to horsewhip sense into his crew, if you know what I mean.”
“I sure do. Jim hated
those punch-happy bosses.” She frowned at the memory. “See if Drin is willing
to join us.”
“Will do.” He glanced
across the tarmac at the cargo shuttle. “When do you want to liftoff?”
“No reason to hang
around.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the city. “It won’t take long
to make my goodbyes. I’ll leave an agent in charge in charge of Dad’s property.
And, I can throw my travel gear together in a jiffy. Let’s say seven days.”
“Okay, Captain Josie.
I’ll jump to it.” Butch grinned and swung his hand to his ear in a mock salute.
Josie chuckled at his
eager expression. “I’ll call Spaceport Traffic Control and schedule a slot for
our departure. See you later.”
They separated on their
different errands.
Continue reading Lured
by the Lion at Amazon iBooks B&N Kobo GooglePlay Other PRINT
An alien spy on the
run.
Two human sisters
chosen as future astronavigators.
Their paths are
destined to converge.
Psychic sensitives,
Holly Moon and her sister Rosie, are chosen as candidates for Warrish training
as hyperspace navigators. The sisters are eager to promote humanity’s advance
into space. Will they succeed? They must pass a series of rigorous tests and
adapt to the alien neuro-implants.
Alien merman, Baswin
Kenton Tallis, Second of his Triad, lives on Earth disguised as a human. When
Earth agents discover the secret identity of his older brother, Baswin must
flee to the Warrish embassy in the Pacific Ocean.
Holly and Baswin are
swept together on an island in the Pacific Ocean, but their destiny lies
farther away and many forces threaten to drive them apart. Can they overcome
the obstacles and find a haven?
Follow the adventures
of the three brothers of the Flaming Comets Triad in Baswin, Book 5 in Taxyon
Space.
Amazon iBooks Kobo B&N GooglePlay Other
Chapter 1
In the quiet village of Hampton in the Wold on the western fringes of the Indo Eurasian Union, Holly Moon placed her scrying mirror on the table next to the teddy bear. Opening the hinged copper lid, she gazed into the mirror. The reflective glass blurred into swirling ripples. The iridescent ripples widened, leaving a small transparent circle in the center.
Tensing in anticipation, Holly bent over the mirror and focused her psychic senses on the expanding circle. The vision strengthened until she distinguished her target in a tumble of rocks at base of a sheer slope. The girl’s small body was pinned in the crack between two boulders. Judging by the position of the tangled blonde hair, she lay face down and motionless.
Thirty minutes earlier, Detective Sergeant Powell had called Holly to ask her to scry for the missing girl. He had dropped off her picture and favorite teddy bear to guide the search. Holly’s life had become much more exciting since the detective had recognized her talent for finding lost objects and missing people. The Sergeant was prone to plead for her services on difficult or urgent cases in his jurisdiction.
This one looked nasty.
The girl’s faded shirt almost matched the yellowed hues of the earth-encrusted boulders and her body was partially buried in the middle of the rock pile. She would be difficult to spot from a distance. Was she dead or just unconscious? Anguish gushed into Holly’s mind.
Tamping down her emotional response, Holly examined the girl as closely as possible with her remote senses. One pale arm stretched up, the fingers curled as if she had tried to claw to safety. Her blonde hair was damp and matted. A thin ribbon of wet blood stained the rock below her head. A bad sign.
Spurred into action, Holly rapidly assimilated the physical details of the girl’s location and broke her trance. The crumbling walls of the pit might be the remains of a quarry or one of the bomb craters left in the wooded hills. The big cities had been rebuilt in the years after the war’s destruction, but nobody had bothered to repair the damage in small rural communities.
She grabbed her com, related what she had seen and punched the message over to Sergeant Powell. Her task was done. With luck, her description would enable him to pinpoint the site and recover the girl. Dead or alive.
Renewed anger and sadness at the girl’s dire predicament seeped into her thoughts. Leaning back in the chair, she shut her eyes and performed the mental exercises designed to sweep away the unpleasant emotions before they became overwhelming. She envisioned a favorite landscape, a beach of pristine white sand washed by sparkling waves.
As she relaxed, her thoughts drifted. In some ways, she was fortunate in her psychic talent. The requests for her services were usually more benign like seeking for an item of lost jewelry or a stray pet. In contrast, her younger sister had a talent for healing. Rosie worked at the hospital in the nearby town where she was exposed to sick people every day. After tending to a difficult patient, Rosie often had to rest at home for several hours to restore her usual cheerfulness.
A few minutes sufficed to dispel Holly’s negative emotions. She swiveled around to gaze though the window at the verdant landscape. This room at the rear of the cottage overlooked the village allotments. Beyond the garden beds of vegetables and flowers, sheep grazed on grassy slopes at the edge of the woods. The soothing influence of the peaceful scene restored her normal serenity. She and Rosie often sat in this room for that very reason. Yet, sometimes she wondered if they had become too settled in this secluded village when the world had so many beautiful places. If only they had the credits, she yearned to travel and explore different regions of the planet.
Holly withdrew her gaze from the window. Her scrying mirror lay open on the table. She picked up the mirror, intending to restore it on the shelf.
Her senses pricked. A premonition?
She glanced at the mirror.
Colors swirled over the reflective surface and a face appeared. A strange face with chiseled features and an extraordinary sweep of vibrant orange hair curling like a wave over the top of his partly shaved head. A male face, she guessed, despite his unearthly appearance. His eyelids were closed and his expression as calm as if he were asleep. As she watched, his eyes flicked open to reveal startling irises of a golden amber hue. His pupils widened and he smiled at her.
Who was he? Could he really see her or was he looking at something else?
“Holly. Holly.”
Her sister’s strident call broke into her focused mind. She blinked and the mysterious vision faded from the mirror.
Rosie burst into the room, waving a beige envelope. Her face glowed with excitement as she cried, “Holly, this letter just arrived. It’s from the Ministry for International Affairs.”
Folding the mirror into its case, Holly shook her head in disbelief. “Why on earth would the Foreign Ministry send us a letter?”
“I know. Isn’t it weird? But weird is what we do.” Rosie giggled. “Anyway, the letter’s from the Regional Minister, Mr. Braithwaite.”
“It must be important,” Holly said slowly, holding out her hand for the letter.
“Here.” Rosie thrust the envelope into her fingers. “Read it.”
She unsealed the envelope and removed a sheet of cream-colored paper. The gold crown and sunburst emblem of the Indo Eurasian Union were embossed on the top of the letter. She had never seen such a posh letterhead. The sunburst glistened and the midnight blue of the territorial name created a vivid contrast on the pale colored paper.
“Wow. It’s fancy.” She skimmed through the words and read the letter aloud,
“Dear Misses Holly and Rosyline Moon,
You are invited to an interview at our Regional Office to undergo a critical assessment of your paranormal abilities. Your employers have been informed that you will be absent for important international business.
A driver will arrive at the eighth hour on the morning of the fifteenth day of August to escort you from Hampton in the Wold to our offices at the New London Spaceport. Please bring any device you employ in your craft. The assessment is expected to last for the entire morning. Transport will be available for you to return home after the interview. You have the option of visiting New London in the afternoon.
We look forward to your attendance at this important interview.
Yours truly, Augustus Braithwaite, Senior Minister
International Affairs Division of Indo Eurasian Union
Office for International Affairs, New London.”
Wrinkling her forehead, Holly looked at her sister. “It’s a strange letter.”
Rosie cocked her head and murmured, “What do you think?”
Holly stared at the neatly printed lines of the letter. “It’s phrased as a polite invitation for some unspecified important international business. But we haven’t been offered a choice. There’s no request for a reply. No com code given for any questions.”
“Sure. It’s a puzzle. Should we go?” Rosie’s eyes brightened in anticipation. “We’ve never had a chance to visit New London in the last few years. We haven’t traveled far from home since Dad’s death.”
“I don’t know.” Holly frowned at the letter. “How on earth did this Braithwaite find out about our psychic abilities? Only a handful of people believe in our talents. Even our neighbors in the village are skeptical. They joke about our quaint notions.”
“Not all of them,” Rosie said. “Dr. Greene believes my healing touch helps her patients to recover. And Sergeant Powell trusts you to find missing people.”
Checking the date on her com, Holly said, “We’ll soon find out. Tomorrow’s the fifteenth.”
Rosie scrunched up her lips in disapproval. “They didn’t give us much time to prepare.”
“No time to scarper,” Holly joked.
“Well, I’m going for the interview,” Rosie said in a decisive tone. “I’d love to have a free trip to the city.”
Holly shrugged. “Okay. We might as well go. If only to learn why the guys at the Ministry for International Affairs are so keen to assess our paranormal skills.”
“Right.” Rosie grimaced at the clock on the wall. “I’d better hurry to the transport station. My shift at the surgery begins in twenty-five minutes.”
The sisters parted for their regular jobs. Rosie worked with patients in the regional medical center in the nearby town, while Holly had a parttime job in the village post office with the mundane task of routing packages for World Parcel Services.
Lost in the foothills
of the mountains, Bridget meets the elf, Windswift the Wanderer. He offers to
guide her across the mountain range. But what is the elf doing in human lands?
Can an ordinary, or almost ordinary, human girl trust a cold hearted elf to
lead her to safety?
Epic fantasy adventure and romance with darker overtones. This story weaves elements of folklore and a quest for a safe haven in a land where magic is real.
Available at: Amazon iBooks B&N Kobo GooglePlay Other
Chapter 1
Bridget Bramble fastened the buckle to close
the satchel and placed it on the table next to her basket. She spun on her toes,
gazing at her cottage and breathing in the homely scene. The spicy fragrance of
the herbs hanging to dry melded with the lingering scent of the barley cakes
she had baked yesterday. Jars of preserves and powders lined the shelf above
her plates, bowls and cooking pots.
She had lived alone in the cottage in the two
years since Granny had died, following her tradition of supplying herbs for the
villagers. But she needed to replenish her stock and this foraging expedition
was overdue. She had used the last of the white fungus three weeks ago. The
shell-shaped fungus grew only in a special grove of birches at half a day’s
walk from her cottage. The trip had been postponed by tending to a sick child
and a spate of rainy days.
The girl had recovered. Yesterday, the clouds
had lifted and she had prepared for the day-long expedition into the woods garnering
seasonal fruits, herbs and the white fungus. She planned to fill the basket with
ripe berries and nuts. Everything was ready for her trip.
She tapped her fingers on the leather satchel.
It held plenty of cloth bags to carry the foraged plants and a pair of leather
gloves to protect her hands from thorns or poisonous oils. She had packed two barley
cakes, a chunk of cheese, an apple and a leather flask of ale for her midday
meal. She always carried her small knife, the fire starter and a pouch of
medicinal herbs. Her cloak and hat were on the hooks by the door. She had fed
the chickens and checked that the ashes in the fireplace were cold.
She lifted the brown felt hat from its hook,
and jammed it over her head, pulling the rim low over her ears and forehead.
Only her ponytail swung loose on her back. She grinned, as gleeful as a truant
lad, and eager for a day’s freedom from humdrum chores.
A rap on the door made her frown. It meant a
delay.
Annoyed by the interruption, she placed the
satchel on a chair and went to see who was her early visitor.
Randall stood outside, an anxious expression on
his face and a linen bag in his hand.
“Bridget,” he said, “I’ve come for the dried madder.
We’re ready to dye a new batch of wool.”
“Come in.” She swept the basket off the table
to make room for his bag. “Sit down while I fetch it.”
As she opened the door to the larder, her
brother demanded, “Why are you dressed like that?”
She glanced down at her working clothes. Randall
ought to recognize her outfit from their hunting expeditions with Papa. She had
worn the same clothes for those weeklong trips in the wilderness. The boy’s
trousers Randall had outgrown, a faded blue woolen shirt, a man’s leather
jerkin and ankle boots. Only the jerkin was a newer acquisition, freshened up
with a set of her horn buttons. She preferred the freedom of a man’s clothing
for lengthy trips into the woods. If she were mistaken for a boy at a distance,
it might save her unwanted attentions.
She said, “I’m going foraging in the woods.”
“Man’s clothes. You’re so unfeminine,” he
scolded. “How can you expect to attract a husband if you go around wearing a
man’s clothes?”
She squashed an angry retort. It was useless to
argue with him. He was only voicing his wife’s opinion, likely shared by the
old biddies in the village. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. Her clothing had
nothing to do with her unmarried state. He knew the real reason as well as she
did. The blacksmith’s son had spread the rumor she was a witch and hated men.
The lies were his revenge for the spell she cast when he caught her alone and
tried to rape her.
Pressing his point, he said, “You shouldn’t be
living alone.”
“I don’t want a husband,” she snapped and
immediately regretted her outburst. Locating the jar with powdered madder root,
she poured a quarter of it into Randall’s drawstring bag. “Here’s the madder.
Do you need anything else?”
He thanked her, rubbed his short beard and
stared at her for a moment. “You could come to live with us.”
Leaning her palms on the table, she dismissed
his offer. “No. Hen’s teeth, Eveline and I would be at each other’s throats.”
He looked unhappy. “Bridget, I’m worried about
Eveline. She’s bulging with the baby. Her ankles are swollen and she’s too
tired to do her usual housework.”
“She should rest,” Bridget said. “The baby’s
not due yet. Not for three or four weeks, I’d guess.” She understood his
worries. Their first child had been stillborn.
“You’ll come, won’t you, to help with the
birth?”
Touched by his trust in her healing abilities,
she said, “I’ll be there. Send for me once the pains begin.” Ever since she was
ten years old, she had assisted Mama and Granny at births. Now, she served as
the village’s only herbwife. Despite the rumors, her neighbors often called on
her to help with difficult births and severe illnesses. Her trip to replenish
supplies of medicinal herbs was as important as making charms for healing.
Sorting through the jars, she selected a mixture of shredded raspberry and
peppermint leaves. “Give Eveline a pinch of this mix in hot water at midday and
make sure she rests in bed.”
Randall picked up the package. “You’re a good
sister. I shouldn’t grumble about your clothes or how you choose to live.”
She gave him a goodbye hug to prove she still
loved him despite their disagreements. Holding the door open, she watched him
limp down the lane toward his house in the main village. Eveline might gripe
about her sister-in-law’s weird habits, yet she never berated Randall about his
lame leg. They were happy as a couple. Was Randall right? Would she also be
happier with a husband? Maybe. If she found a man to love her and approve of
her skills in herbcraft and carving magic buttons. She shook her head. Nobody
in this neighborhood fit that description.
When her brother hobbled out of sight around a
bend in the path, she returned to her kitchen and replaced the jars in the
larder. Glancing though the window at the sky, she considered her delayed trip.
She had meant to leave at first light, and the sun was already halfway to its
zenith. Even walking fast, she could not reach the birch grove with the white
fungus before late afternoon. Should she extend the trip and sleep overnight in
the woods? The autumnal weather was mild and she had often camped in the wilds during
the week-long expeditions with Papa.
A shout erupted from the lower village.
Dogs yelped.
Bridget groaned. Not another interruption.
She peered out of the
window overlooking the lower cottages.
Armed men were marching
in a double line along the road into the village. She counted a column of fifty
soldiers. Their helmets, sword hilts and spear points glinted in the sunlight. They
wore thick doublets over leather kilts dyed dark red. A helmeted man rode a
black horse in the vanguard, his blood-red cloak billowing in the breeze. Walking
behind the leader, another man carried a banner, flapping in a blur of red and
black. In the rear, other men led horses pulling two empty wagons.
As they advanced, her
trepidation grew. Why were they entering the village? Had they come to collect tithes
for King Athelric? Surely it was too early in the season. The tithe collectors always
came after the harvest was gathered. And none of the king’s soldiers wore red
kilts. Who were these strangers?
Elder Grantham stomped
onto the road to confront the leader of the foreign troop. Old Grantham called
himself the village chief and fancied he ran the place. He raised his hand and
asked a question, his words inaudible at this distance.
The cloaked leader
barked an order.
A man in the front rank
punched his fist into Grantham’s face.
The gray-haired old man
crumpled, his body thumping onto the road.
Aghast, Bridget gulped.
Grantham might be a pompous ass, but what hellish person would mistreat a
defenseless old man?
A woman screeched inside the adjacent cottage.
The enemy leader gave a hand signal.
The foremost ranks split into groups. Five men rushed
into the nearest cottage and dragged the occupants onto the road. A second set
of men entered the house and carted out boxes of valuables. They worked
methodically, moving from one cottage to the next in an organized manner.
Villagers yelled in anger, or screamed and begged
for mercy. The raiders beat off the scant opposition and herded the others into
a field.
No wonder there was little resistance, Bridget
thought bitterly. Two weeks ago, Jarl Keegan had commandeered eight of the
strongest men in the village and the best riding horses for his troop. He had
led them away to Castleton in response to a command from King Athelric. Since
their departure, no messages had come from the Jarl or his men. Rumors swirled around
the neighborhood about battles and marriage celebrations, although nobody knew
the truth.
Suddenly furious,
Bridget resolved the horrid foreigners would not capture her or steal her best
buttons. Shutting her eyes, she rubbed her fingers over the charm-inscribed
buttons on her bracelet and considered what to do. Her cottage stood on the
edge of the woods, up a small lane and well separated from the rest of the
village. She should have a few minutes respite before the raiders arrived.
Randall and his
pregnant wife lived in the main village. But she had no way to defend them against
the attackers. Few of the spells in her scant knowledge of magic were designed
to harm people. She had only once used her best weapon, the repulsion spell, to
escape when the blacksmith’s son had grabbed her. Repulsion made an effective
defense against a man at close quarters, but it would not work on an enemy at a
distance. Her only option was to flee before the invaders captured her.
Luckily, her man’s
clothes were good for running and she had a day’s worth of food. What else
could she take for her flight?
A scream, abruptly cut short, propelled her
into action.
Her thoughts buzzing in alarm, she ran to the
chest by her bed and grabbed her most precious belongings, the blue bag with her
best buttons, her sewing kit and carving tools. She stuffed them in a second satchel
along with a spare shirt. She hesitated over her three books. The herbal
treatise and book of ballads were too heavy to carry a long distance, although
she decided to keep her great grandparents’ travel journal. Its pages had a
wrinkled cover of oiled leather. She tucked the small book into the folds of
the shirt. Returning to the fireplace, she grabbed the tin cup for heating
water. Finally, she surveyed the shelves in the larder. The jars of preserves
were too heavy, but she added three apples, the rest of the barley cakes, a bag
of shelled walnuts and strips of smoked mutton in store for the winter.
She arranged the straps of the two satchels
crosswise over her shoulders. Flinging her cloak over her back, she fumbled to
fasten the button at her neck. She nudged the rear door ajar and peeped out. Just
beyond the doorsill, a well-trodden track led uphill into the woods. Raspberry
and currant bushes lined the path and provided a screen from the marauders in
the village.
Heart thumping in fright, she lowered her hood
over her head. She crouched below the tops of the bushes and scurried up the
path into the shelter of the trees.