She paused for a moment, feeling a hot, astringent swell rise in her eye sockets, while the roots of her lashes tingled faintly.
She closed her eyes.
"Today, I'll send those beasts down to see you."
Her throat had tightened as she spoke, and an almost imperceptible tremor appeared at the end of her sentence before she suppressed it with a swallow.
She buried her face in the crook of her arm, the tip of her nose pressed against the fabric of her sleeve, her breathing slow and warm. She felt her body—its faster-than-normal reflexes, stronger bone structure, sharper senses—recede into the background at that moment, leaving only a sensitive, fragile girl who had yet to undergo any modifications.
That girl crouched beneath a scorched oak tree, a bouquet of flowers before her, her voice dry and her eyes red-rimmed.
The wind suddenly picked up.
It swept down from the western ridgeline, pouring along the valley and through the canopy. The petals of the blue gentians were stripped away one by one, spiraling high into the air like a small flock of butterflies in varying shades of color. As they rose, the petals scattered, spun, and crossed paths. Circe lifted her head and watched the blue fragments ascend in silence for a long time.
Then she rose, brushed dirt and grass clippings from her knees, tightened the strap of her gathering bag, and headed toward the valley.
Along the forest trail, as dusk deepened, she moved faster than she ever had before. She passed the familiar landmarks—the split spruce, the lichen-covered cliff face, and the narrow dry creek bed—each step landing precisely along the route she had taken before.
By the time she reached the outskirts of the Green Dragon habitat, night was nearly upon her, yet her pupils could