Quinlan brought his guests down through the canopy before anyone on the ground could notice.
Wind cushioned each guest onto the broad limbs of an ancient oak overlooking the clearing, steady enough to stand on, and he threaded a current between the leaves that carried every sound from below to their ears as clearly as if they were standing in it.
Jasmine settled beside him and rested her cheek against his shoulder, watching the scene.
Below them, the children were close enough now to pick out faces, and the first thing that registered was the sound of one adult losing a battle she had no chance of winning.
A young woman in white nun's robes stood in the center of the clearing with her hands on her knees, bent double.
Her glasses had fogged and slipped halfway down her nose, freckles were flushed crimson across both cheeks, and her habit was streaked with so much dirt and grass that the white had become a suggestion.
