The walk would've been tranquil if it weren't for the schlick, sucking sounds of my shoes in the mud. The rain left everything thick and gross, and I keep getting stuck and having to pull my legs free. Remnants of the storm thrum through the air, and its heavy scent lingers on every breath. Infused with the aroma of crops, the almost salty-sweet tang of produce, it’s like everything’s been steeped in some kind of fruity, earthy tea. It’s pleasant, different from the grassy, saltwater winds of the hills by the lighthouse.

As the clouds thin out, moonlight casts an otherworldly glow on the Farmlands. Stars start to peek out too, and it’s lovely staring up at them while we walk down the road. There was too much light pollution back in my world; here it’s like I’m in the countryside. Wait. I’m literally in the countryside. This isn’t some suburban corner of the city, it’s literal farmland.

How has it only just hit me? I was in the woods. I have a room in a cottage, attached to a lighthouse, on a cliff, by the ocean. I guess it’s taking me a while to catch up with myself.

It’s funny cause I never imagined traveling. Didn’t think there was much to see anyway, and it’s not like any of it would have wanted to see me. Besides, you could just look up any place you want online. People post countless videos of that, so why do the work yourself?

At least, that’s how I used to think. Even with the terrible mud – someone really should build a proper road here – it’s a pleasant walk, and maybe it’s not so bad being out and about in another world. But something keeps nagging. There are awkward and uncomfortable tugs in the back of my mind.

Something’s out of place and I’m pretty sure it’s me.

I try to ignore it. The farmlands are tranquil, and I almost feel like I’m walking through a fairy tale. Like there might be a giant beanstalk or a golden egg-laying goose behind every farm. I imagine the pattern of fenced-off crops and homes would look rather pretty from the air, like patchwork on a quilt, with the roads coursing through them like veins. I wish I could turn into a bird and see.

I need to acquire something that can fly.

But excitement doesn’t fill my chest at the thought. My head hurts. My legs ache from exertion, and I’m... I think I’m upset.

I’m upset. My breathing’s changing, and my eyelids feel heavy. I just want to rip them off.

What’s wrong with me?

It almost feels like another mind, like when I’m transformed and something else is pressing against my thoughts. What is this? What’s going on?

I swallow it down, trying to inhale the crispy after-storm air, but the longer we walk, the more exhausted I feel. My shoulders are growing heavier with each miserable step in the disgusting mud that cakes the bottom of my pants and cloak. If my shoes get stuck again, I’m just gonna go barefoot. Who cares if someone calls me a witch?

My jaws start aching. I chase after Kivuli, trying to process this. Am I upset? Why? I was just feeling great, wasn’t I? We helped Rory. We captured an Evil Spirit! I hugged someone and felt glad about it; I can turn into a unicorn if I want to.

So, what’s wrong?

What's wrong with me? Something’s not right.

As we walk away from Rory’s house, the farms get nicer. They have lanterns on their porches. People sit in rocking chairs and some men are smoking. The fences that line the roads are taller, and there are other people on the road.

It’s making me feel even more icky. I tug on my hood, trying to keep my head down, trying to just follow Kivuli till we leave. I get why she seems to be in such a rush; people here don’t want us around. Men in overalls and trousers, women in gowns or petticoats, all of them wearing hats, all of them either glaring or pointedly looking away. Like we’re apparitions. Like we’re filthy.

Well duh. They think we’re witches. They think she’s a witch; she must be feeling just as awful as I am. I muffle a cry of frustration as my shoe gets stuck and I nearly trip.

I miss Beauty and the rackety wagon. I miss Rory. Kivuli says she’d taken care of his father’s issues, but it’s not like my mom got much better after Jia died and she’d quit drinking. Things were still shit; it was horrid and painful, just in a quiet, holding-your-breath-forever, kind of way. My heart’s aching.

It’s aching so much! I feel like... I feel like I’ve flooded my insides with too many things. My heart’s pumped too hard today. Too many thoughts went through my head. Too many things happened. I’m fucking tired.

I know it’s selfish to think like this after seeing what Rory has to put up with. I remember the Lashfarnan woman and her children. The soldiers stalking the roads and headed for town. There are real problems here.

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And what am I even doing here? This isn’t me. This isn’t the real me. Helping people? Trying to do good things? Offering hugs? I inhale deeply through my nose, panic constricting my chest like I’ve tried turning into a slime again and got stuck. I need to sit quietly somewhere in the dark. I need to process. I need to run through everything I said to all the people I met today.

I want to stop this train of thought but like my feet in the mud, I keep getting stuck. Anxiety pulses with my every heartbeat, and I try very hard to distract myself. I really do. I touch the wooden fences on the side of the road. I try to count every house we pass by. Some of their plants tower way over my head, as big as trees, and they’re ornamented with elongated fruit. I think they might be stalks of corn, but I can’t tell in the dark, and the buzz of insects keeps my hands to myself. Is corn even a fruit? Maybe it’s a berry.

Every once in a while, a carriage pulled by a unicorn or a kaballus shows up. We move to the side to let them pass since the road isn’t wide enough. The unicorns trot gracefully, and I try to remember them, imagnie myself as them. One has a black coat and looks very sleek. Another has spots. And a third is almost as brown as Beauty but has a dark mane of hair. If Kivuli hadn’t told me they were unicorns, and if I hadn’t one, I would’ve thought they were normal horses.

But, with a closer look, I can see how their hooves never disturb the mud. Each footfall is light and easy, and they remind me of Kivuli’s shadow-covered feet. I wonder if the unicorns inspired her to use her shadows like that.

It’s the kaballus that are scary. They’re wider creatures and their gruesome talons clench the mud with every step, and I can't help but think of them as bizarre dinosaurs. Powerful muscles roll beneath their scaled skins, and their alligator-like heads swerve side to side as they pull their carriages forward. One even snorts at me, a large yellow eye following me as Kivuli and I wait on the side of the road.

We might’ve walked thirty or so minutes from Rory’s house, and now there are even more people walking about. They all make a point to walk on the opposite side of the road, and their open distaste makes me even more uncomfortable. I wonder if things would be different if they knew I was the mayor. Or maybe I’d have to finish integrating the Farmlands first. I’m only at 2%.

But then would they even want me here? They’ll just hate me, won’t they? Because I’m not just the mayor, I’m also apprenticing with a Shaman. Maybe they’ll think I’m a witch and I’m using strange magic, trying to get more power. Kivuli said that the Gilded Church was just looking for an excuse to hang us. And maybe these Farmlands people are the same. Anxiety creeps up my neck, throbbing behind my ears, and I wish I could hide. I wish we were home already.

Oh god, I think I’m gonna throw up.

They say if you’re starving, actually starving, like you haven't eaten in weeks, you start digesting yourself, breaking down your body to maintain what you can. They say if you’ve survived something like that and have food again, you should eat slowly. Tiny nibbles of soft foods. Small sips of water. You want easily digestible stuff because your system’s in shock, and your body needs time to function properly again. Otherwise, you can get very sick. Somethings, you might even die. I think I’ve been touch starving.

I’ve definitely been touch starving, and how many people have touched me since I’ve landed here?

I can feel each incident like another layer of skin growing where I’d felt their warmth. Kivuli grabbed my face and inspected my eyes when we met. Bluebell sniffed me. Mia prodded my chest. Isabelle had held my hands, and then I’d held Kivuli’s when we prayed. Not to mention when I turned into Puddle and begged her to squeeze me.

Too much!

Hugging Rory must’ve pushed me over the edge. I’ve shocked my nervous system. I’m overloaded. I don’t know how to process all this! The Arctic Squirrel mind surfaces like it understands; my heart’s beating so quickly. I wish I hadn’t hugged him. I wish I hadn’t held him for so long!

No! What am I saying? He needed the hug. He so desperately needed the hug, and I needed it too. It was a good thing. Why am I beating myself up over this? This is such a stupid thing to get hung up on and – I can’t stifle my cry of rage this time.

Kivuli hears me. She stops and turns. “Are you alright?”

Mortified, I avert my gaze and press my palm against a fence. Now that we’ve stopped walking, it’s like all my strength’s slipping out of my body. I lean against the fence, struggling to suck in the cool air, my thoughts rushing like a current. I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I can’t even talk. I can't say anything; everything’s stuck. I’m stuck like a sneeze that just won’t come out.

Kivuli rushes to my side. Her hand grabs my shoulder; I can feel it like she’s setting me on fire. But she’s whispering frantically. “Samiya, you still have the seashell! I’m so sorry. Give it to me, right now!”

Her intensity yanks me out of my spiral. Does she think it’s cause of the seashell? So I’m not just freaking out? I clench my teeth and reach into the shadow pocket. My hand brushes the hat. When I find the shell, I shudder from how cold it is. I almost throw up.

Once it’s in her hand and I’ve let go, the weight on my shoulders vanishes. My racing thoughts slow down. My next breath fills my lungs completely, and I stare at the thing. It’s like I’d been slowly compressed the entire time I had it with me, and now my mind can stretch back into shape. “I didn’t know it did that.”

“I’m sorry, Samiya,” says Kivuli. She tucks the seashell inside her cloak and bows her head. “I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts. I should’ve taken it from you before.”

I remember her bloodied fists and the screaming from inside the house. Preoccupied is probably an understatement. It’s also been a while since she’d had an apprentice, so she must’ve forgotten. And I do feel immensely better now. The anxiety fades to a dull throbbing, but I need to rest. It's been such a long day. “It’s okay, Ma’am,” I say, trying to smile. “I wanted to help you.”

She nods, then she turns away with a swish of her cloak, and I get the sense she’s upset with herself. “We’ll be home soon,” she says. “We just have to sort out one quick thing for Rory.”

"Okay," I whisper, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing. Okay, so it wasn't just me. I wasn't completely falling apart. It was the thing in the seashell making me feel so bad. But I remember what Kivuli said about Evil Spirits feeding and growing on negativity. That thing was drawing on my negativity; I need to be better. I need to stop the spiraling thoughts. I bite my lip and follow her. I'm still hoping we can get home soon so I can hide and process things, but I also want to know what she's doing for Rory.