The wind whistled through the trees as she walked, wafted really, through the tall, seeding grass. She met the girl in the center of the field, where the ground bellied up to create a mound, and the grass gave way to dirt and rock.
"Do you know who I am?" she said.
The girl shook her head, one hand on her shoulder, the other flat against her side. She didn't speak, just waited for the woman to explain her prescence.
"Don't be afraid," the woman said. "Take my hand."
The breeze tousled the teenager's hair and she put her hands on the back of her neck and gave the other woman a steady look. "Where are we going?"
"I can't tell you a specific place," was her answer. "Someplace. Somewhere."
The teenager frowned. "Can't you tell me? I can't stay all day. I have to get back. There's people waiting and I have things planned for today."
"It's your time," the woman said, and looked at her with this clean expression; a gentle smile. "Take my hand."
It wasn't enough of an explanation for her. She shook her head. "No. I can't just go with you. They'll wonder where I am."
"They know where you are." The woman said and slid her hand into the girl's, clasping her fingers around her palm. "You're with the Beekeeper."
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