She was too late. She knelt on the fern, hands grasping her leather jerkin, shaking with unvoiced rage. Smoke and steam billowed from the thatched roo... of the cottage. Riders cried to each other as they remounted, horses slipping on the packed snow. The unconscious body of a fur-draped woman hung across the saddle of an Aroth raider. It was Penoa, Thespa’s mother. The riders circled the burning home, then galloped over the half-frozen stream and up, over the brown hills on which her father. This is kind of new for me. I mean, I've gotten good enough to pass myself off as a somewhat adept Cajun accordion player among our normal audience of friends and passersby and visitors back in Alabama, but this is Louisiana and it's a Cajun music festival and there are people here who are NAMES in the genre.I say a little prayer that I don't embarrass myself and the group.Cindy's Dan does the introductions. "You've seen family bands and that's perfectly normal. What you're looking at here is a. More

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