I swung toward the sound, meeting more trees swaying in the breeze cutting through the woods. Birds took flight, wings flapping into the twilight sky. She’s somewhere even magic can’t find her. I look down to see the leaf has turned, the silver needle glinting brighter than it should as it points straight toward me. “It’s working,” Niya says, her voice flat. I grip my skirt with my fists and hope, hope that it’s Niya’s magic that isn’t working, and not. Niya takes the bit of hair I snap off and bends over her bowl again. “Here,” I say, catching the end of one of my braids. I can hear a woman calling to her children somewhere in the distance, and the general sounds of the town: a wagon creaking its way down the road, chickens clucking in someone’s backyard, and, faintly, people calling Seri’s name. Anything to indicate I need to hide what Niya’s doing. I wait, listening for the sound of someone entering the house.
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