The Giver: Chapter 12, 13

He's so fretful at night.

He was very aware of his own admonition not to discuss this training.

This time it had been Fiona who had undergone that fleeting indescribably change.

"I apologi--" Jonas began, and then stopped, flustered, remembering there were to be no apologies.

He took a deep breath and sought the sled and the hill and the snow in his consciousness.

Probably when you saw the faces take on color it wasn't as deep or vibrant as the apple, or your friend's hair.

The Giver looked startled at the certainty of Jonas's reaction.

"My little brother--" he began, and then corrected himself. "No, that's inaccurate. He's not my brother, not really."

"Or what if," he went on, almost laughing at the absurdity, "they chose their own jobs?"

With its sinuous trunk it stroked the huge corpse; then it reached up, broke some leafy branches with a snap, and draped them over the mass of torn thick flesh.

He could still hear it when he opened his eyes and lay anguished on the bed where he received the memories.

"Right," she said, skeptically. "Sure, Jonas."

" 'Ccept your apology," Lily responded indifferently, stroking the lifeless elephant.

"Someplace out there--" He gestured vaguely with his arm.

Finally it subsided as the memories were assimilated.

Finally it subsided as the memories were assimilated.

He watched the landscape for glimpses of the green that he knew was embedded in the shrubbery; when it came flickering into his consciousness, he focused upon it, keeping it there, darkening it, holding it in his vision as long as possible until his head hurt and he let it fade away.