“You move like one. Nimbly.”
“I was given very good legs. You were born with yours, and they’re also very good.”
“They have muscles I didn’t know legs could have—which is something. But right now every one of them is crying, and that’s something else.”
“We should sing.”
“Sing?”
“To take your mind away from the crying muscles. I heard this from a boat when I was a little girl, and it’s fun to sing. ‘Buddy, you’re a boy make a big noise—’”
“Queen?” Sasha said with a quick laugh.
“What queen?”
“No, Queen’s the band who sang it. The name of the band.”
“But the voices I heard were men, not queens.”
“Hard to explain. Anyway, good, classic rock choice, but I don’t know all the words.”
“I do.” As Riley sang the next line, Annika laughed, joined in.
“Freddie Mercury would be proud,” Sawyer decided when they hit the chorus—words Sasha knew, and all three rocked it out.
“The sea queen had a good point. There’s a reason soldiers sing or chant on a long march.” Doyle glanced back at Bran. “She’ll make it.”
“Oh, I never doubted it.” Pride and love simply swarmed through him. “Her strength of will would carry her even when her legs tire. She’s more courage than the lot of us as she came into this with more fear and less knowledge.”
“She’s more knowledge now, because if my memory serves, she’s headed straight for the cave I’ve chosen.”
“You’ll let her keep point then, and see if she leads us to it.”
“I don’t mind bringing up the rear,” Sawyer put in. “Singing’s not the only way to distract the mind on a march.”
“It’s a fact they’re not hard on a man’s eyes on the walking away.”
“Hard to comment,” Doyle decided. “I make one on the blonde’s ass, I risk a jolt from the sorcerer. Make one on the sea nymph’s, the traveler may take a swing at me.”
“There’s one more besides,” Bran pointed out.
“The she-wolf?” Doyle shrugged. “Not bad.”
“We should sing another!” Annika swung up on a pile of rock—yes, as nimble as that mountain goat.
“Do you know another one?” Maybe she had to catch her breath, but Sasha was game.
“Oh, yes. I love listening to music from the boats or from the places on the shore. I know this one, but I don’t understand most of the words.”
She shut her eyes, ticked her hands in the air a moment as if reaching for the beat. Then to the astonishment of everyone on the hillside, lifted her voice into a soaring aria.
“Tvoyu mat,” Sawyer said, reverently. “She’s . . . Is that opera?”
“It certainly sounds like opera. And beautifully rendered,” Bran added, as with her voice still winging through the air, Annika jumped down to continue the climb.
“La Traviata. She’s gone from Queen to Verdi.”
“You know opera?”