“So, he… fell over?” the village physician drawled, an eyebrow raised. Her bright green scrubs stood out against the drab brown background of the medical tent. She gestured with an arm toward an empty, olive green cot. I could tell she didn’t believe me. Maybe this would be the piece of evidence the elders needed to finally put me on trial for spellcraft.

Breathing hard from running all the way there, I glanced back at the sliver of fading light coming through the thin line of the tent’s entrance. I’d send Lucinia to tell Mom what’d happened, and the entire way to the tent I’d been trying to think of how to explain Frif’s unconscious state. I hadn’t come up with much, and the medic’s disbelieving gaze was making me even more nervous. Legs shaking almost imperceptibly, I stepped towards the cot, careful not to trip on any of the uneven parts of the ground.

“Mhm,” I answered, realizing that I’d lapsed into silence a few beats too long. I hoped she thought it was just because I was out of breath. I set Frif down on the cot. “I saw him while I was out harvesting norolillies. He just… fainted?” I said as I stepped back, letting the medic take her place at Frif’s side.

She pressed her fingers against his neck, then his wrist, checking his pulse.

I breathed deep, some of the remaining tension in my chest dwindling further as I watched the steady rise and fall of the boy’s chest.

“I’ll have to ask his parents if he has any underlying conditions…” the woman murmured, her tone distracted. Her eyes flitted up to me, vaguely suspicious, before she returned to checking Frif’s vitals.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot, unsure if I should leave. Then she looked back up at me, meeting my eyes this time.

“Well?” she said pointedly. “What are you waiting around for?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, then opened it again like a gaping fish. Finally, I turned and left, the canvas of the tent rushing against my face felt like cold fingers as I exited. I brushed off the sensation, and started walking. The amber light was fading quickly now, shadows settling over the buildings and trees nearby.

I’d been standing there waiting for her to ask me about the strange wind, I realized. Or the Shard Frif had gotten somehow—but there was no way for her to know about the strange sensations I felt sometimes, and the Shard would be absorbed into Frif’s body by now, imperceptible to non-mages.

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Despite my heart’s slowing pace, my mind still raced. I thought back to Frif’s magic—it had turned on him… seemingly unwilling to hurt me? But could magic have a will? And what about me would make it do that? I wasn’t a mage, and I certainly didn’t have any conscious control over his spell. I thought of the Glade—of the thrumming I felt whenever I was near it. The magic had felt the same. I could sense magic, somehow? But that didn’t—

I let out a long exhale, trying to stop the train of thought from spiraling unproductively, the motion of my legs carrying me forward feeling distant. Mechanical. It was always like this in the village—fearing I’d one day be exposed for something I didn’t even know anything about.

A woman opened the door of a thatched house nearby. She lit a lamp hanging from the roof beside the door with a firesteel, then cupped her hands over her mouth and called for her children. Her voice carried up and down the nearby hills, reverberating and echoing all around, and not long after there were similar calls all around the village, and the mostly silent valley was suddenly alive with noise, dozens of parents calling their children home—some scolding them for whatever they’d gotten up to that day.

I tried to push any thoughts about magic from my mind. I imagined one of the people milling around the village seeing the thoughts written on my face and running to tell the elders that I’d finally done it. I thought of anything else. The distant sound of running water. The small children running home with mud on their faces. My thoughts landed on dinner and stuck there, my stomach rumbling in agreement.

That’s right, I thought. Nothing would come of this—Frif would be up in a few hour like nothing happened, and we’d all move on. I could continue living my perfectly normal life.

Repeating thoughts like these all the way home, I has mostly calmed down by the time I got home.

When my house came into view, Mom was standing in the front door, head swiveling around, wringing her hands.

Looking for me.

I told myself it was just because I was running late, but the slight widening of her eyes as they met mine said otherwise.