The woman chuckled. “Just because I sent ye in a certain direction doesn’t mean I’m the reason fer all yer problems. No matter what I had told ye, the events would’ve likely transpired exactly as they were meant to.”

“You’re saying everything we do is pointless? That no matter how we act it won’t change things?”

“Of course not, fool girl. Most of the future is like a piece of clay; it already has form, but it is malleable, and can be shaped and reshaped by those hands that dare to mold it. But even the strongest, most capable hands will find something much harder inside the clay. Those things that are already set in stone and cannot be altered, not by hands or hammer or chisel. Not even by the gods Themselves.”

“Wisdom or nonsense?” Soraya said, refusing to be swayed by this woman’s flowery words as she had in the past.

Another laugh that devolved into a cough. “Even I don’t know the answer to that one. Saman Ji offers many words, but it’s up to you to choose which ones are of value. Now go, ye’re scarin’ off my business again, and I won’t be denied wine with my supper tonight.”

Soraya blew out a pulse of hot air and pushed to her feet. She sucked in a breath, not releasing it until she’d exited the crowded marketplace and slipped back inside the calm peace of the forest that had always been her home. She needed time to think, away from Shim and Seela and problems she didn’t know how to fix. Morg was happy with the change of scenery too, leaping free with an excited cry of “Morg!” as soon as she untied her sack. She watched him fondly for several minutes as he scampered about, climbing trees and leaping from bough to bough, until finally he returned to the forest floor and settled on a sunlit patch of earth, promptly going to sleep. She sighed and settled in beside him. He had always been an impressive napper and likely wouldn’t awaken for a few hours.

“Hello,” a voice said from above, making her jump halfway out of her skin.