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Foreword

This is one of a number of my novels that began with a short story—several short stories, in fact. The first one appeared in my mind as “I” trudged down a dirt road, watching the dust curl up before my boots. I could smell the growing things, feel the air on my face—hear the pounding hooves coming up behind me. And that was a story.

When I got to know that Soul-Singer, she demanded to have her story told, so I went back and wrote it. This was an adventure in itself. And say what you will, it is the writing that is the reward. Money only allows you to stay alive to write more.

—Ardath Mayhar

Chireno, Texas

September 2007