“But why did she leave?” Grandma heaves herself upright. Her long hair, hennaed and unbraided, spills on to her shoulders. “She had no choice. Sometimes even trees have to uproot themselves—entire forests have been known to migrate.” “What does that mean?” “It means, as settled as we are in this land, the winds can blow so harshly at times that they can force us out.” “You speak like a riddle.” “Riddles are how Lady Truth cloaks herself.” “Why would truth need to cloak herself?” “Because if she were to walk about naked, people would stone her in the streets.”
