She leaned against the rake, breathing heavily, her whole body humming with dull aches. Her shoulders throbbed from lifting, her knees stiff from crouching and rising over and over. Even the soles of her feet pulsed. The ache in her stomach was sharper—a hollow twist that reminded her she hadn’t eaten since early morning. Breakfast felt like something that had happened to someone else.
At her feet, a brown goat tugged at a wrinkled weed with impressive determination. She watched it absently, too tired to laugh at its stubborn joy. In the farther pasture, two horses swayed their tails in a lazy rhythm, unbothered by the world. The rest of the herd—cattle and horses both—were specks scattered along the horizon, grazing in the vast silence.
Beyond them, the land unfolded in every direction, impossibly flat except for the sliver of trees that bordered the east. It was autumn, and the tall grasses had turned that deep,burnished gold—bright and tender all at once. The color filled her chest. It was the same gold as Collin’s meadow, the same warm hue that bathed his glade in late autumn light. She could see it now, clear as if she were standing in it, the wind rippling through the grasses, his voice somewhere behind her, calling her name.
She turned toward the east. Her eyes lingered on the line of trees, where the foothills began their slow rise toward the mountain. Soon, the pass to the summit—to Chroma—would vanish beneath winter’s weight, buried in snow and sealed until spring. But to her, it was more than a season’s obstacle. It was a wall. A cruel, unmoving wall between her and everything she longed for—and everything she could no longer reach.
Tears pricked at her eyes, sharp as cold wind. She blinked hard and looked away.No.She wouldn’t think of him now.
She shut her eyes against the wide, empty stretch of farmland. But the memories came anyway, crisp and vivid. She could almost feel the glittering frost sting her cheeks, taste its sharpness in her breath, smell the pine needles crushed underfoot. She could almost hear the satisfying crunch of her boots as she pushed through the fallen leaves.
She breathed in slowly, letting the ache unfurl with the image. For one blissful moment, she was home. Home in her forest of North Town. In the narrow loft above the cobbler’s shop. In her small bed, curled beside her sister and Auntie, wrapped in quilts that smelled of woodsmoke and lavender.
A loud creak snapped her out of her reverie. The big white sow had managed to nudge the latch open with her snout. The gate swung wide—and off she went, snorting and galloping toward the woods with surprising speed for an animal her size.
“Oh, Gloria,” Dragonfly groaned, squinting against the glare of the midday sun. “Not again.”
That horrid creature was always running off.
She let the rake fall into a fresh pile of hay and hastily shoved the old goat back into his pen. Then she sprinted to the barn, grabbed a rope from its hook, and stomped off after the pig—this time, she wasnotletting Gloria get away.
Dragonfly tore through the underbrush, breath snagging in her throat. How was it possible that four squat legs could move so fast? Gloria barreled ahead, all determination and snorts, crashing through the brush with gleeful abandon.
“She’s beautiful,” Dragonfly muttered under her breath, dodging a low branch, “andcompletely insufferable.”
It wasn’t hard to find her. The white sow had made a beeline for her usual haunt—a blackberry bush near the edge of the woods—and was currently demolishing it with snorts, chomps, and the occasional triumphant squeal. Birds burst from the canopy, squirrels scrambled up trunks, and somewhere nearby, an animal fled in terror.
Dragonfly didn’t slow. She slipped the rope over Gloria’s broad ears, looped it tight around her thick neck, and gave it a firm tug.
“Come on, Gloria.”
The sow let out a furious squeal, dug in deeper, and disappeared halfway into the bramble.
“Gloria,no! You have to go home!”
Dragonfly planted her boots, braced the rope around her hand, and shoved with her knees—trying to wedge the beast backward. It was like trying to uproot a boulder with her shins.
She gritted her teeth. “Is it your life’s mission to make me hate pigs? You may be some prize-winning sow, but to me, you’re just a walking ham roast!”
The sow only grunted and pressed harder into the bush. Then, with a sudden pivot, she turned andcharged—not away,but forward—dragging Dragonfly like an old sled through the undergrowth.
“Gloria! Stop!You pig!”
Branches whipped her arms. Brambles snagged her skirt, scratched her calves. The rope bit into her hands, and still, Gloria plowed ahead, utterly unbothered.
Dragonfly tried to dig in her heels, but the soft ground gave way beneath her. Her hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks, her chest burned, and her curses grew increasingly unhinged. At one point she heard herself yell, “I hope you get eaten by wolves!” which wasn’t even close to true.
Finally, she flung her arm around a skinny pine andheld. The bark scraped her forearm, the rope burned across her palm, but she wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not after all this.
“Enough,” she hissed through her teeth. “You arenotwinning today.”
Gloria let out an indignant squeal and jerked the rope again—but Dragonfly clung tighter, legs shaking, breath ragged.
A man’s gruff voice suddenly called out from the trees.
The unexpected sound sent a shutter down her back. But it wasn’t just surprise. Something in the man’s tone—a strange, almost oily casualness—set off an alarm deep in her gut. She didn’t immediately recognize his voice, but she knew instinctively that she shouldn’t trust him.
Auntie always said to leave when a man watched too closely. And there had been stories—so many stories of what the guards did to girls in the woods, by the roads, near the lakes...
