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26 pages, ebook
First published February 3, 2014
The wind off the white cliffs whipped Maeve Donnelly's hair about her face like ragged flicks of fire and tugged at the wooden shawl knotted around her shoulders. That same wind snatched the notes from her whistle, tearing the tune away from the hollow length of reed almost before her fingers could form the notes. Her rough brown skirts pressed against her legs, and high overhead, kestrels rode the currents. Could they hear her tune from where they floated, up there against the clouds?