Twenty miles to the east, across the river from where the three girls talked and teased and giggled, Rave stood in the dark outside the door of an old cabin, the same incident replaying in his mind. He had so badly wanted to kiss Leesa. For an instant, the pull had been so strong he'd almost forgotten himself, forgotten what he was, forgotten what could happen if his mouth met hers. He had recovered in time, of course, but the memory still burned strong in his mind. He needed to know more, to know what his options were, to know if he could somehow kiss her without killing her. The cabin was the oldest in their settlement, older than Rave, built of rough hewn logs cut from the surrounding forest more than two hundred years ago. Dried mud black with age chinked the spaces between the logs. The two front windows were tiny—glass had not been an option when the cabin was built, so deer hide had hung over the openings back then. Glass had been added later, and Rave could see flick
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