“You will,” he answered.
She shook her head, as if uncertain of that. “I wish I could do more to help you. I’m just another kid like all those compound kids. I can’t do anything anymore.”
“That’s not true. You help Owl every day. She depends on you. She told me so.”
“River and Sparrow can help her better than I can.”
He took a deep breath. “Look, Candle. I want you to stop thinking about what you can’t do. I know you miss it. We all do. But things change. People change. I’m not the same, either. I worried about it all the time, at first. But I’ve learned to stop. You have to do that, too. Besides, I think you should give yourself some time before you decide that you’ve changed for good.”
“What if we don’t have time? Look at what’s happened to us in just a few weeks.” Her gaze was steady, her face calm. She looked so grownup. “If something happens that I should have known about, it will be my fault.”
“Nothing that happens will be your fault,” he said, squeezing her hand to emphasize the point.
“What happened to Chalk was my fault.”
He felt his reply catch in his throat. “No, it wasn’t. Not any more than it was with Squirrel or Mouse. Even if you could have sensed things the way you used to, you couldn’t have done anything. None of us could. We all look out for each other the best way we can. But sometimes even that isn’t enough. You know that.”
She nodded, but didn’t look as if she believed it.
“Like I said,” he followed up quickly, “your ability to sense danger might be on vacation for a time. Maybe it will come back. You need to give it a chance.”
She nodded again, still looking doubtful. He gave her a moment, and then he said, “Maybe you’re trying too hard. Maybe you can still sense danger just like you used to. Maybe you’ve just forgotten how to let it happen.” He paused. “When that boy who killed Squirrel took you away from us, you had a pretty bad time of it. Maybe that was part of it.”
She still didn’t say anything, her forehead furrowed in thought, her mouth pursed. “Maybe.”
The wind gusted sharply and particles of dust flew through the air like tiny needles, stinging the flesh. Hawk ducked his head and covered his mouth and nose with his collar. Candle’s lowered face was completely hidden by the mop of her hair. Hawk wanted to talk to her some more, but it had become impossible to do anything but slog on through the screen of grit and debris whirling around them. Moments later, Helen Rice, riding one of the AVs, caught up to them and announced that the caravan was becoming too strung out and they were going to have to close the gaps before they got separated altogether. What had started as a normal wind stirring up the loose earth of the flats was turning into a full-blown dust storm, and she was stopping the caravan until it passed.
Reluctantly, Hawk agreed. “You better get back with Owl,” he told Candle. “She might need your help. We’ll talk some more later. I promise.”
The little girl turned away, heading back toward the Lightning, her head still lowered, her face hidden. He wasn’t happy with leaving things this way, but there wasn’t any choice.
“Take Cheney with you!” he called after her. “Go on, Cheney,” he urged the big dog, gesturing.