Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) by Maggie Shayne

I might have been. Somewhere in this New World was Duncan Wallace. And I wondered if he might be staring in awe at the virgin forests, or gazing up at the same purple sky. I wondered if he thought of me.
    Ebony tugged at her reins, and I glanced ahead to see the stream, wide and bubbling like an excited child. I released her, and she trotted to its bank and bent to drink from its crystalline waters.
    Hands on my hips, I inspected the lush grasses here. “‘Tis a good spot,” I told the mare. “Tonight, we’ll sleep right here.” Using the length of worn and fraying rope the liveryman had given me, I picketed Ebony in a spot where she could reach both the sweet grasses and the water. Then I tossed my bag on the ground to use as a pillow. My cloak would be my blanket, the grassy ground, my bed. 'Twould do quite nicely.
    A twig snapped in the woods to my back, and I stiffened, turning to look around. I saw nothing, but for the first time I wondered what sorts of beasties might roam these woods. Large ones, if the size of the trees was anything to go by. I’d not expect an animal to harm me unless I provoked it. A witch is in tune with nature, and its creatures, and I’d come to believe that even wild animals could sense that and know instinctively that I meant them no harm. But these might be new creatures, animals with which I’d had no experience.
    A rustling sound came then, and I forced my brain to calm, my senses to open. Slowly I moved toward the center of the place I’d chosen as my camp for the night and stood there, still and silent for a long moment, letting my eyes fall closed and my breathing slow, and lengthen. Opening my mind, I sensed the intense energy of the earth drumming beneath my feet, and instinctively I crouched down to place my palms flat to the ground, the better to feel it, to absorb it, and fall into harmony with the forces moving here. Then, after a moment, I rose again, gradually unfolding my body until I stood upright. Tipping my head skyward, opening my arms to the heavens, I let the energies of the sky above me flow into me.
    When I felt the familiar sense of being in perfect harmony with all around me, I lowered my arms to my sides and opened my eyes, feeling confident again that nothing in nature would harm me here.
    And then I saw him, peering at me from within the trees, so much a part of the forest he nearly blended into it. But once I’d spotted him, my eyes focused, and he became clearer and clearer to me. A dark skinned man, dressed in animal hide all adorned with beads. His long hair hung in streaks of dark and light, and his eyes were very dark.
    I’d heard talk of these natives of the New World. Indians, they were called. Or savages. ‘Twas said they murdered and raped at their pleasure, and took the scalps of their white victims. A chill of unwelcome fear slithered up my spine as I held his gaze with mine.
    He did not move. Nor did he look particularly savage nor bent on my murder. In fact, he seemed natural there, in the woods...as if he belonged there. As if he were even more in tune with his environment than I could ever hope to be.
    And then I realized...this was his home. It had to be his home. The sense of that came to me too strongly to be a mistake. I’d simply walked in without knocking and decided to spend the night without an invitation.
    Licking my lips, rather nervously, I said, “I’m sorry if I have intruded. I’d like to sleep here tonight. If ‘tis all right.”
    He remained as he’d been before. Perfectly still, unblinking. Just watching me. It occurred to me that he might not speak my language. So I spoke to him with my hands, as best I could manage. I pointed to myself, then folded my hands beneath my head, closing my eyes to indicate sleeping, and then pointed to the ground. Looking back at him, I waited.
    He nodded, just once, and so slightly I might have mistaken it. I should thank him, I realized. But how did one make a sign for “thank