BELLWAKE — FOUR DAYS LATER
If the future of democracy had to begin somewhere, I would not have chosen a town with a goose that hated me personally.
It bit my boot before we even reached the square.
I looked down at it.
It looked up at me with the cold moral certainty of a creature that had never once doubted its own rightness.
"Your nation has produced many enemies," I told Bellwake's welcoming committee. "None as committed as this bird."
Brin, who was now somehow both a youth observer and a local civic icon, crossed her arms and said, "That's Alder. He bites anyone who walks too confidently."
Kassandra, behind me, muttered, "Excellent animal."
Bellwake had changed since the last time we'd been here.
Not rebuilt exactly.
Reoriented.
The old split lines were still visible if you knew where to look—the repaired barricade marks, the repainted square stones, the public notice boards now carrying both blue and red cloth woven together instead of hanging opposite.
