Chapter 12: The Handwriting

The causeway reopened by noon, and the Council sat again at dusk.

The hall was fuller than before.

People stood along the walls, and the doors were propped open so those outside could hear.

Margot sat in the front row in a plain black dress, with her hands folded and her eyes lowered.

She had not looked at me once since I came in.

"Three witnesses have sworn to the handwriting," the old elder said. "Bring the first."

A tall man in a tweed jacket came forward.

He was the schoolmaster from the Snow Moon school, and he had taught me my letters.

"Miss Winslow's hand is distinctive," he said. "The round capital C, the closed loops. I would say these letters are hers."

"Did you compare them with her schoolwork?" said the elder.

"I was given samples, yes."

"By whom?"

He glanced toward the front row.

"By the Alpha's eldest daughter," he said. "She brought me a box of Clara's old notebooks yesterday morning."

A murmur ran along the benches.

"I only wanted to help my father," Margot said, in a small voice. "He's been so upset."

The second witness was the pack scribe.

The third was a neighbor who had known me since I was six.

They all said the same thing, and none of them looked at me while they said it.

"Miss Winslow," said the elder. "You've heard them."

"Yes, Elder."

"Do you wish to answer?"

"I'd like to write something," I said.

A clerk brought me a pen and a sheet of the Council's cream paper.

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