Whisperwind Wilma's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Wilma rushed across the open prairie carrying the sweet scent of saskatoon berries, hunting for any ear that would listen. She wanted one big Canada Day cheer to roll from coast to coast before fireworks. But the dry wind kept yanking her whispers sideways, scattering them into the dust. Her restless circling had carved a shimmering trail across the grass, a glittering loop of dust and tiny sparks. She was running in circles, and she knew it. A hunched old witch stepped onto the trail, beads clicking, staff tapping the dry earth. She pointed her staff toward a tall spiraling tower rising in twisting bands on the horizon. "Pour your voice in there, little breeze. It catches what the dry wind steals." Wilma raced to the spire and slipped inside its open rings. Her whispers swirled upward, gathering strength instead of scattering. At the top, a polished weathervane spun once, then split her voice cleanly east and west. A sleek prairie falcon launched from a ring, carrying the first whisper past the dry wind toward distant ears. Wilma laughed for the first time all morning. Her message was moving. But the spire hummed louder than she expected, and far below, the dust trail began pulling itself into a shape she had not asked for.