THIRTEEN

PRILLA WAS AWAKENED by a deep groan. The Home Tree was swaying like an upside-down pendulum and groaning while it swayed. She flew to her window, but the wind had plastered a wet leaf across it.

The celebration!

She hurried down to the Home Tree’s lobby and pulled open the door.

Her glow illuminated just a few inches, and she saw only rain, sheets of rain, almost no space between the drops. Lightning flashed. She gasped. The oak tree was gone! Gone! A hole where the roots had been.

She thought, Mother Dove! Tink! Rani! Terence! How could they be safe when the oak had been uprooted?

The world went dark again. Prilla knew she couldn’t fly in this weather, and she knew she was probably safest where she was. She waited for another lightning flash.

It came, with a crack that nearly deafened her. She saw, off to her right, a path toward Mother Dove, a long distance on foot. She started out, and the wind shoved her back in.

She waited, then put her hand out. The wind had lessened, but as soon as it rose again she’d be blown away. She waited for more lightning.

It came, and she saw, not far off, a rock to shelter under. She left the lobby and was drenched instantly. She almost slipped and kicked off her roll-back shoes as she raced for the rock.

She made it, just ahead of the wind. She crouched and waited for light and less wind. The lightning flashed. She saw raised tree roots that she might reach on her next sprint. The wind weakened, and she ran.

Mother Dove’s hawthorn had been stripped of its leaves, but Mother Dove remained untouched. At first she’d been terrified. If she died, her beloved fairies would lose their fairy dust. If her beloved egg cracked, the animals and people would age and die, and she would, too.

But as the hours passed, and the wind whipped above and below her, she relaxed, believing that Never Land was protecting her.

She was right. The island was protecting her, but it was a struggle. The hurricane was determined to do its worst, and the worst would be wiping out Mother Dove and her egg.

The hurricane sent its fiercest winds and its heaviest rain at the nest, without a moment for rest. The island held out bravely, pressing back the storm, determined not to give way.

But when the frontal assault failed, the hurricane changed its strategy. It moved its strongest winds out to sea and stirred up a wave big enough to drown the entire island.

Of course, Never Land had to dodge the wave. It marshaled its forces.

The moment Never Land’s attention was diverted, the hurricane dispatched a vicious gale that scooped Mother Dove off her nest.

She battled the wind to get back to her egg. She beat her wings against it, pecked it, butted it with her head. But she was only blown farther away. She exhausted herself and had no strength left when the storm lifted her high above the island and slammed her down on the shore.

She lay on the beach, her chest caved in, both wings broken.

At least her egg was still unharmed. She was sure she’d know if anything happened to it, no matter how far away she was.

In fact, the wind that had taken her had whistled by the egg without cracking it. It still rested serenely in the nest, as smooth as ever, as peacefully blue as ever. A full minute passed. Then lightning snaked down, splitting the shell, and incinerating the egg.

A shudder ran through the island. Mother Dove felt it and knew what it meant.

My egg! she thought. Oh, my egg! The magic she’d been given—the best of her, her gift to the island—was destroyed. She wailed into the wind.