Huber Hill and the Brotherhood of Coronado - Book 2

  • Prologue

  • Narrator

    Malia stirred from a restless slumber within her dark, grimy cell.

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  • How long had she been in this place?

  • Days?

  • Weeks?

  • Years?

  • There existed no concept of time here.

  • Narrator

    Was it day?

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  • Night?

  • She had no way to tell.

  • Squinting her eyes shut, Malia tried to remember her mother and father;

  • her brothers and sisters.

  • She tried to remember the color of sunset splashed across the vast New Mexican sky, the endless reds flowing across the Painted Cliffs of the Zuni mountains, and the amaranthine mesas of the reservation, or rez as she had called it.

  • Narrator

    She’d been here so long, that those memories seemed to stem from an alternate reality—

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  • a different lifetime.

  • The last thing she remembered from home was that night.

  • As she did so often during the summertime, she’d climbed atop the mesa nearest her home to stargaze.

  • For hours, she’d lain on her back, staring up into the vast expanse of the universe when she noticed something—

  • a small, red dot on her arm.

  • Narrator

    Seconds later, a feathered plume was sticking out of it.

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