The Heart of Xandia - Book One

The sun smiled peacefully on a little village, illuminating gently decorated huts. Each had special touches: Handmade chairs, special flowers garlanding doors and windows, and distinct types of wood drawn from the infinite abundance of the forest.

Morning had come, and everyone was awake.

Dahlia Winsee stepped outside her house—which was proudly the biggest one in the village. She breathed in the fresh air and sighed peacefully. Everything was good. The sky was light blue and cloudless, the birds were in flight, the flowers were blooming, and the villagers were working.

Lillie the Healer was Dahlia’s mother, and she was cooking food for the Dinner Harvest. She was a gentle-looking woman with honey-hued skin, shiny black hair, and amber eyes. Dahlia resembled Lillie but for her much longer hair, which, although always clean and presentable, almost touched the ground.

Dahlia admired her village, which consisted of circles of small huts within a natural clearing in the wilderness. They were the products of hard work and isolation from the rest of the world.

The forest was so close. A couple of steps would take you from the village into the leafy immensity of the trees. But Dahlia wasn’t looking towards the forest. She was looking around the village, interested solely in human activity. There were exactly one hundred adults and forty kids. Thirty-nine kids, actually, because someone wasn’t attending to the village’s needs.

“Where’s Clover Hemmerson?” Dahlia demanded.

A girl ran through the forest, one who could be seen today in a short-sleeved, yellow tunic, navy-blue breaches, and brown leather boots.

This was thirteen-year-old Clover Hemmerson, who ordinarily loved being surrounded by the big oak trees and babbling brooks of the forest that was her home. Today, though, was not an ordinary day.

Three wolves ran behind Clover, yipping hungrily and drooling as they ran. Two were muscular, dark gray males with thick fur, while the other was a slim snowy female.

Clover ran through the forest with her powerful legs that seemed to know no fatigue. Her arms were pumping to keep her balanced. The sun warmed up Clover’s yellow-golden skin, and deepened her forest-green eyes. She had a hastily assembled bun, her hair waves of chestnut and streaks of caramel.

Clover avoided the looming trees around her and jumped over rocks that jutted from the ground. The leaves crunched beneath her boots.

Her bird, Zebra, was perched on her right shoulder and chirruped in alarm as the wolves caught up with them. Zebra was a tiny finch that was the size of Clover’s palm. He had ruffled gray feathers, bright orange cheeks, a black breast bar, stripes of ebony and daisy-white, chocolate-and-pearl spotted feathers below his wings, and a raven tail adorned with large cream spots. His plumage made good camouflage in the forest.

“I should not have gone near their den!” Clover yelped regretfully, looking behind her as she ran. Earlier in the morning, she had woken up and immediately gone into the forest, where she stumbled across a wolf den while she was exploring. She had seen little wolf cubs squirming in the den, and she had cooed at their warm cuteness. And, of course, the parents had come across her and gotten territorial.

Clover realized that the wolves could catch up to her soon, so she decided to climb the nearest tree. She grabbed a low branch and used it to pull herself up into the shelter of the leaves. The creaking of tree branches filled her eardrums.

The wolves all bashed into the tree at the same time, howling with surprise. They shook their heads and clawed at the trunk angrily. They barked and growled and continued to scratch repeatedly. Finally, though, the trio accepted defeat and loped away, one directing a parting snarl at Clover.

Zebra chirped, relieved. He smoothed his ruffled gray feathers and took a minute to rest. But Clover was unfazed. Remaining wedged in the safety of the branches, she got out her leather journal and charcoal pencil, beginning to sketch. She wanted to make sure that the wolves had gone before she came down, and drawing would help her pass the time.

Her pencil swooped and looped in the book. Clover drew with immense concentration. Zebra stopped preening his wing and looked at her drawing emerging from the individual’s strokes. He cheeped, impressed.

“Thanks, Zeebs,” Clover nodded, as if it was normal to understand, and reply to, a bird.

She now added the finishing touches to her drawing. Zebra saw that she had drawn a wolf, leaving out not a single detail. The breathtaking creature had long, dark fur, alert ears, and a snarling face. On the side of the page, Clover scribbled a little map as a reminder of where the wolves’ den was. She especially loved these graceful and aggressive animals, and she never held anything against them if they weren’t pleased with her. It was just nature taking its course.

“Perfect,” Clover decided at last, slapping the covers of her book shut and stuffing back into her pocket. Zebra finished up grooming himself and chirped, nudging her cheek.

“Okay, let’s go get some breakfast,” she replied to him, sliding down the tree.

The cerulean sky was dotted with gray clouds. Clover figured it was nothing to worry about. The forest was alive at this time of day: Everything was croaking, humming, chirping, and buzzing. Clover closed her eyes and listened to these sylvan noises, feeling right at home. She was the only one who could hear these soothing sounds, to the steps of ants below the dirt to the swift flaps of birds in the sky.

Zebra flew off her shoulder and cheeped as he mounted into the air. Clover followed him, knowing that her bird could always smell the freshest berries nearby. Zebra fluttered in midair, chirping at a bush full—yes!—ripe blueberries.

“Good job, Zeebs!” Clover smiled, giving Zebra a rewarding scratch on the cheek. She plucked a berry off the bush and rolled it over to him. He chirruped gratefully, pecking at, what was, for him, a giant morsel.

As for Clover, she collected many more berries for herself, popping them into her mouth one by one. She chewed them contentedly, enjoying the sensation of juice on her tongue. Clover and Zebra ate berries every day, but they still loved this taste. Somehow, it was always new to them. Maybe this was the gift of contentment.

Clover sat down and leaned against a large tree. She could hear a stream nearby, its water loud and filled with freshness.

“Another one, boy?” Clover asked. Zebra shook his head with a small burp, then groomed his plump belly feathers.

“Suit yourself—” she said, then suddenly choked, reeling backwards. Zebra screeched, hopping over to her. He chirped frantically with ruffled feathers, tilting his head.

Clover spat the offending berry out, gasping for breath. She looked at the wet flap of blueberry skin that remained. It was black and rotten. Zebra sniffed it, recoiling with a nasal cheep.

He fluttered back onto Clover’s shoulder to give her a nuzzle. “I’m okay,” Clover panted, still shaken up. She couldn’t get her eyes off the charred berry. How could it look so burnt?

A sudden, sickening sound echoed behind her. Clover turned around to look at the berry bush and saw one of the leaves beginning to blacken. She touched the once-pure green leaf and felt its delicate texture turning into ashes and crumbling in her hands.

Clover’s eyes went wide, and she stared at her palms. A small, sad pile of ash and dust sat where once a beautiful life had existed. Zebra chirruped uneasily, fluffing his feathers. “This isn’t right,” she murmured, tipping her hand and letting the ash fall to the ground.

Clover sighed heavily, rubbing the tip of her chin. She wanted to know what was wrong and why life seemed to be falling apart so suddenly.

Zebra chirped loudly, jumping onto her shoulder.

“What is it, boy?” Clover asked alertly, abandoning her melancholy thoughts and snapping her attention back to him. Zebra sprang into the sky and flew swiftly around the trees. She heard the tiny flaps of his wings.

Clover ran after him, wondering what he had discovered. She kept staring at him, forgetting to look in front of herself. She leaped reflexively over a big log and landed on a smooth, slippery rock.

Clover yelped, trying to, and failing to, keep her balance.

Zebra cheeped worriedly, circling back to her. She got up and rubbed her head gingerly. Her hand was drenched in mud, and she groaned in disgust.

While Clover’s head throbbed painfully, she ordered Zebra, “Keep going.”

He chirruped with a nod and fluttered ahead, slightly slower this time. Clover followed more carefully, making sure to step smarter.

Finally, the finch stopped, flipping in the air and neatly landing back on Clover’s shoulder. Her eyes landed on a single flower. Large leaves tried to engulf it whole. It was almost black, but a single white petal remained. Clover breathed quietly and leaned down to look at this tenuous survivor.

It was a daisy: A beautiful, brave, little daisy. But it was dying just like the leaf had. Zebra hissed, ruffling his feathers. Clover brought the dying flower to her nose and sniffed it.

Immediately, she jerked away with a cough. The scent, which Zebra had caught before Clover, was dry and burnt.

The daisy fell to the ground, its stem bursting black. The ashes swirled in the wind, and some of these remnants hit Clover in the face. She coughed again and wiped her face. There were smudges of black on her cheeks that she couldn’t get rid of.

“Better go to the stream,” she muttered, standing up.

She gave one last look at the dead daisy. It was reacting to something unnatural in the Earth. Clover tore her eyes away from it and forced herself to move. The ground was wet, and the chestnut bark of trees shone in the sunlight. Clover ran her hand over a trunk. It was healthy and strong. Plants sprouted as she neared the stream. The more nature bloomed, the more wet it was, the closer the water would be.

It was a relatively short walk once Clover picked up speed. She knew this forest like the back of her hand. She swiftly weaved through the trees and took different, sprawling paths. Soon enough, she heard the rushing water and spotted the jumbo berries growing on bushes.

Clover bent down on her knees and cupped her hands in the water. Her pants got stained with dirt, but she didn’t mind. She dipped her fingers into the water and washed her face. The black smudges dripped and slowly slid down her cheeks. Zebra took this opportunity of rest and fluttered away from Clover’s shoulder, sipping the fresh water with soft, content cheeps.

After the two were healthily hydrated, Clover looked at the sky. It was slowly getting to be afternoon.

“We should go back home for a bit,” she decided with disappointment. Zebra nodded, settling himself on his usual spot: Clover’s right shoulder.

She took a moment to look around and remember the way back to her village. It wasn’t that far away, and, if Clover listened closely, she could hear the nearby sounds of villagers talking. She bounded forward with confidence, the sun tickling her skin.

On her way home, a vine hung loosely from a tree, catching Clover’s attention and giving her an idea. She scurried up the tree and grabbed the vine.

Clover made sure that it was sturdy by pulling it. The vine kept its sturdy strength.

“All right boy, hang on!” Clover said with an exhilarated smile, leaping onto the vine and swinging onto another tree. She landed neatly on a thick branch and laughed, the sky glistening above her.

It wasn’t often that Clover saw a vine in the forest. It was a treat to swing on one. She reluctantly jumped off the tree and focused on any signs of her village being nearby. Sounds of grunting and axes striking something solid caught her attention.

Clover ran, the trees slowly disappearing and the berry bushes growing in density as the forest gave way to a sunny clearing. She finally skidded into the heart of her village, where everyone was working.

They were harvesting young corn and carrots from the soil, and they were using their axes to chop the nearby tree trunks. Some villagers walked around the clearing with carefully woven baskets in their hands, chatting with friends and families, then getting ready to collect plump berries.

“There you are!” a voice said sharply behind her. Clover turned around and saw Dahlia, who, even though she was the same age, had to slightly tilt her chin up to glare at Clover. She wore a purple tunic that was much too bright for the forest girl’s taste.

“Where were you this morning?” Dahlia demanded, her long braid swaying side-to-side.

“In the forest,” Clover replied simply.

“And what exactly were you doing?” she insisted, crossing her arms.

“I was running away from wolves, seeing plants turn to ashes, and washing my face in the stream,” Clover answered simply.

Dahlia rolled her eyes.

Zebra screeched, spreading open his wings.

“Your finch thinks that he can protect you,” Dahlia sneered.

“Keep needling us, and you’ll see that he can,” Clover replied, tired of Dahlia’s rudeness to herself and Zebra.

Clover’s mother came over and put a protective arm around her daughter. “Come, tell me what you’ve found,” Aurora said, smiling. Clover smiled back, glad to be with the one person who loved her.

Aurora was a beautiful and gracefully tall woman, having golden skin a few hues darker than Clover’s, thick chestnut hair that was wavier than Clover’s, and sky-blue eyes that weren’t like Clover’s in any way.

She had a perfect oval head and high cheekbones—unlike her daughter, whose own head was rounder, and whose own cheekbones were lower. While Clover had inherited the majority of her mother’s looks, it seemed that her spirit itself had come from her other parent.

“What a beautiful drawing,” Aurora gasped as she settled herself on the rounded weed porch of their house. She held Clover’s journal with delicate fingers, admiring it wholeheartedly.

“Thank you,” Clover replied with an appreciative smile.

After she finished commenting on the realism of the wolf sketch, Aurora said, “I made a drawing of my own.”

She walked inside, the rusty door squeaking, and came back out with a small piece of paper. Aurora gently handed it to Clover, smiling softly. She clutched the paper and looked at it with shining eyes.

Aurora had drawn Clover, Zebra, and herself. Everything was perfect. Clover was standing in the middle of the page with her usual determined look, while Zebra was chirping on her shoulder. Aurora was next to Clover, putting a hand on her other shoulder and smiling hopefully. It was clear where Clover got her drawing skills from. Both mother and daughter made magic with their pencils.

But there was one person missing in the drawing.

“Mother, you forgot to draw Father,” Clover pointed out quietly. Aurora looked away.

She then said, “How about we have some food?”

Clover was annoyed. Her mother always ignored the subject of her father. He had died a long time ago, before Clover had even been born. All she really knew about him was his name…and what he used to do.

Maxwell. An adventurous, spirited man who traveled the world. If only he hadn’t come across that pond. I wish I had known him.

Clover sighed with frustration and held the drawing close to her heart. She would add her father and keep it safe, no matter what.

“We already ate,” Clover replied tightly at last. The two were tense.

“Wild berries again? Eat some meat and corn. It’s good for you,” Aurora chided.

“I don’t like village food. It’s tasteless,” she replied defiantly, crossing her arms.

Aurora crouched down next to her daughter.

“I know you don’t like living this way. I try my best to make you feel good and let you be in the forest rather than fill you with unnecessary fears, but, at some point, you’re going to have to settle down in our house,” she sighed, her hair glinting in the sun.

Clover looked away, saying nothing. She knew it wasn’t her choice. Aurora was the best mother in the world, but not even she could keep Clover settled in the wild forever.

“Okay,” Clover mumbled heavily, curling the tips of her hair restlessly. The truth was, she didn’t understand. Why couldn’t she and her mother live in the forest? What kept them in the village?

Aurora would probably say something like “strength in numbers” or “human company” or even something as simple as “food and shelter.” The problem for Clover was that Aurora was trying to get her daughter to be more like the village’s children. It was a practical idea.

She believed that one day the villagers and village would be helpful, so Aurora wanted to get Clover on their good side.

They entered their house. Two couches greeted them along with a tiny bookshelf. The kitchen was just ahead, the table in a little corner of its own. Everything was very squashed together.

For a moment, the air was heavy. Neither of them knew what to say next. Finally, Aurora slid over a bowl of hearty food to Clover.

Clover eyed it hungrily. She emitted a small groan, frustrated at her own indecision.

“Just a bite,” she relented at last, the smell of rabbit tantalizing her. She stuffed a large piece into her mouth. It was delicious, and she couldn’t stop now.

“I’d forgotten the joys of eating meat,” Clover admitted, quickly gobbling up the warm meat and bits of corn. She returned the quickly empty bowl to the middle of the round table.

“That’s because you only eat berries, my dear. We must get you plump for winter,” her mother said, swooping the empty dish away.

Clover looked down at herself. She had a sleek, strong body with just enough fat to protect against the cold. She sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation, and pulled out Aurora’s drawing.

Clover slowly and shakily began to add the shape of a man to it. She grumbled quietly, her cheeks flushed in frustration. Why did her father have to be dead? She at least wished she knew what he looked like.

When Aurora peered over Clover’s shoulder, she exhaled sadly.

“Let me help,” Aurora decided, quickly drawing Maxwell’s face as only she remembered it now. Clover breathed quietly, staring at her father’s face as it appeared miraculously on the page. Unlike her mother’s gentle and clean face, he had a hardened look and an adventurous glint in his eyes.

“Mother…” Clover started hesitantly, glancing away. “What color eyes did Father have?”

She chuckled, smiling. “I wished you’d asked earlier, my little Clover,” Aurora said. “He had the deepest, greenest eyes. Like you.”

“Wow,” Clover murmured, her heart beating warmly. She was the only person in the village to have odd forest-green eyes—that’s why she was named Clover. Everyone else either had blue, amber, or brown eyes.

“What are you going to do today?” Clover asked at last, feeling fidgety. She wanted to get back out into the forest. For the most part, Clover and Aurora spent the day doing their own things. They respected each other’s privacy.

“Well, I’ll be gathering as usual, but I was hoping you could join me today,” Aurora explained happily, dunking the dishes in a water-filled bowl.

“Oh,” Clover muttered, staring longingly at the window which led to the forest. She quickly suppressed her disappointment and replied, “I would love to.”

She rolled up the impromptu family portrait and slipped it into her pocket.

Clover grabbed a glass of well-water and gulped it down. She wiped her mouth with a discontented look. It wasn’t as pure as the fresh stream water. Even the food felt a bit stale, not as soft and silky as the wild berries.

Once her mother finished up with the dishes, the two stepped outside. Aurora leaned to the side and grabbed her basket. “What should I do? I don’t have a basket,” Clover pointed out nonchalantly, secretly grateful for that fact.

The Healer gave baskets to everyone for collecting, but mostly to the women. The men dug for truffles and occasionally hunted a rabbit near the village—and, very rarely, a deer or a wolf. The Healer would’ve given Clover her very own basket—as girls received it when they turned five years old—but she thought that Clover wasn’t tame enough.

“Here, I made you one,” Aurora disingenuously reassured Clover, pulling out a little basket from behind a chair.

“Oh,” Clover mumbled, grabbing the handle. “Thanks…”

How long had her mother been hiding that basket?

I can’t become like everyone else here! They’re afraid of everything and hate the forest! I don’t want to leave the wild.

Zebra cheeped in confusion, tilting his head. Clover sighed. He had never seen her with a basket, which was like branding a woman, “You work for the village now. Nothing else, nowhere else.”

Aurora bounded off the steps of the porch, oblivious to Clover’s internal turmoil, and strode towards a group with baskets. Clover reluctantly followed her mother, though she did feel somewhat glad that she could now gather some of her favorite berries in the forest.

Clover walked off into the shallow wilderness with Zebra. There were less trees and more clusters of ferns in this part of the forest. It was airy and light. She bent down to pluck some blueberries off bushes and snuck a couple into her mouth. “Mm,” Clover murmured, crunching them, “delicious.”

She looked behind her and saw her home through the trees. Clover wanted to disappear into the wild, so far away that her village view and memories would be left behind.

She turned back to the bush with a sigh. Zebra, though, chewed on a blueberry flab with a satisfied cheep. When he finished, he cocked his head and chirruped alertly.

“What is it?” Clover asked, tilting her head and instantly becoming tense.

“Clover? Thank the Maker! I’m lost,” a boy suddenly said from behind her. She whirled around. It was Cedar, Dahlia’s older brother (by one year). His skin was the same warm honey, housing no scars, and his black hair was mostly parted to the right side, not one strand out of place. While Cedar’s body was sturdy, and height like Clover’s—straight and tall—he had a kind and rather soft look, his easy going brown eyes and round head contributing.

“How? The village is right there,” Clover pointed out, containing herself from snorting. Zebra’s eyes were fixated on the confused boy.

“I don’t know…” he began. “I was looking for—elderberry, was it? And I ended up here.”

“Did you find it?” Clover asked.

“No. Have you seen it?”

“The bushes aren’t too far from here. Follow me,” she said, beckoning him over.

“Thank you,” Cedar sighed, rolling his eyes. “Mother is so focused on me getting her herbs and berries. I’m glad I’m with a forest expert like you!”

Clover allowed herself a very small smile and led the way. She passed her mother, whose face was glowing with excitement. Clover shook her head with an annoyed look. Cedar wasn’t her friend, and he never would be. He was not going to tame her. Everyone else had failed. Why would he succeed?

Clover took a deep breath and let her frustration go. Her mother wasn’t strong enough to go against the village’s wishes. She turned around and went back to Cedar. Zebra cheeped worriedly.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled to her bird, then straightened out in front of Cedar. “Do you have a list?”

“Yes… Mother gave me one. Here,” Cedar said, respectfully handing the list over to her. He and Clover then went into a different part of the forest, away from the rest of the group.

Clover studied the paper carefully. “Blueberries, raspberries, silk berries, strawberries, elderberries, oh, a couple of stems, interesting…” she murmured, narrowing her eyes.

“What should we do now?” Cedar asked after Clover finished reading. She glanced at Zebra, who sniffed the air. His pupils changed sizes until he cheeped alertly.

“Milkweed?” Clover translated curiously.

Zebra nodded vigorously.

“Good,” she said, bounding forward.

The two children followed the flying Zebra. Clover scouted out berries and swiftly plucked them. “Catch,” she ordered, throwing a large piece of weed at Cedar. He caught it with an appreciative smile.

They continued to run through the forest, using teamwork to collect herbs. Clover noticed Cedar’s thoughtful and annoyed faces to himself. She said nothing, and, at last, he spoke of amusing stories and interesting tales. She reluctantly laughed along with him, not used to the feeling of happiness—at least when it came to being around other villagers.

When Clover was brave enough to talk, she told the boy some of her favorite wilderness stories. As a response, Cedar admitted warmly, “I wish I could be like you, Clover. I’ve always wanted to be brave enough to explore the deep forest.”

***

It was the evening. Clover and Cedar had spent the whole day collecting fruits and weeds on the list. Both were tired, and Zebra twitched his head with a tiny growl. Clover was sick of the Healer, and so was Zebra. All of that collecting had taken forever.

Clover yawned. “Let’s go home now,” she said drowsily.

Cedar quickly caught up to her and said, “Thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it.” She nodded, too tired to say anything else. While Clover was looking past Cedar, his attention was solely on her.

But something above him suddenly caught Clover’s attention. Her eyes went wide. “I’ll catch up with you, Cedar. Go ahead without me,” she informed him quickly, still staring at the sky and its emerging stars.

“Are you sure?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Okay. See you later…” Cedar trailed off, reluctantly walking away.

The moment he disappeared from Clover’s sight, she whispered to Zebra, “Do you see it?”

Zebra squinted his eyes with a chirp. His head went up alertly. He saw it too. The stars looked strange. They were glowing and dimming—almost fidgeting. Clover went deeper into the forest, to where the trees were less densely clustered and could give her an unimpeded look at the stars. On the way, she marched through a cluster of ferns and a thicket of brambles. Leaves dead before their time crunched beneath her feet. She leaned on a small tree, feeling the dirty, rough bark. Clover’s ears pounded nervously.

She looked up and could see the stars clearly now. They still didn’t look right. They were swirling. And out of that confused, starry movement, something large and orange shot across the sky. The stars darkened in the wake of that orange streak. Clover’s lips were parted in shock, and she followed the streak with her eyes until it was hidden by the low-hanging clouds.

She breathed quietly, her body trembling with uncertainty. Her heart slammed against her chest, prudently telling her to escape. Zebra sniffed the air and suddenly screeched, flapping his wings frantically. The moon itself cowered behind the clouds.

A large explosion of fire and nightmare erupted nearby, the light booming in Clover’s pupils. She was flung back through the air. Zebra shrieked, tumbling away.

The villagers had heard and felt it, too.

Aurora, who had long since finished gathering, came flying out of her hut to look for Clover.

But Clover wasn’t there.

She was in the deep forest, close to the impact of the orange thing. She was lying in a bush, her arm slick with blood, smoke in her nostrils. She came to herself slowly, groaning, smelling her own charred clothing, coughing violently. When her vision came back, Clover crawled in the direction of Zebra’s wounded cheeps.

Now, though, a rustling sound caught her attention. Clover gasped and looked around, not knowing what to expect. She was in a vulnerable state.

An elegant and slim wolf quietly emerged from the bushes. He had soft light-gray fur, large ears, and solid blue glowing eyes. He slowly crept out of the shrubbery and tilted his head towards Clover. She inhaled quickly, scared of the unusual creature. But Clover was eventually mesmerized by his eyes and reached out her hand to him. Fire and ashes glinted in her pupils.

The wolf’s eyes changed—they looked like blue human eyes—then disappeared. Before he could make his move towards Clover, he raised his head: His sharp ears hearing people coming.

The wolf leaped over Clover and gently touched Zebra with his black nose. Then, he whisked away into the night.

Zebra suddenly woke up, his scars and weakness fading at the somehow healing touch of the wolf. Magic was afoot tonight!

“Zeebs!” Clover slurred, her mouth aching. He chirruped, frantically relieved, and climbed up onto her shoulder.

She wiped blood from her lips and dizzily got up. In front of her, the flames parted and glowed green. Clover saw the orange crystal in the middle of an emerald fire.

“What are you?” she murmured, astonished. She stepped forward to grab the crystal and saw her reflection in it. Just as Clover was about to pick up the heat-radiating crystal, the villagers appeared behind her. She whipped around, standing protectively in front of the space rock.

The Healer, Lillie, was at the front of the crowd. The villagers each held torches that produced a fierce flame.

“Don’t do it, girl,” Lillie said. “Don’t touch it.”

“Why?” Clover demanded defiantly, her chin high.

“It’s cursed!” Lillie replied, the villagers loudly agreeing with her in the background.

“How do you know?” Clover replied, crossing her arms. She winced slightly as she touched her own bruised ribs.

“Look at yourself!” Lillie pointed out.

Clover stared down at her ash-smudged clothes and bleeding body.

“Clover!” Cedar cried, rushing out from within the crowd. He ran all the way to Clover, hugging her when he finally reached.

Clover didn’t hug back.

Cedar pulled away and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Clover responded, not meeting his compassionate gaze.

“Come back to the village. That rock is dangerous!” Cedar said worriedly.

Clover’s eyes glinted with annoyance. “You’re just like them, Cedar. Leave me alone,” she muttered coldly.

“You’re hurt,” he insisted.

“Stop pitying me!” she snapped, pushing him. Cedar stumbled backwards, falling onto the ground. Clover was strong.

“I’m not pitying you,” he insisted again. “I—”

“I don’t need you,” Clover interrupted.

“I only want to help.”

“Keep your stupid help!”

Cedar recoiled, his kind face clearly hurt. He took a moment to think about her hurtful words.

“I understand,” he mumbled passively.

Clover turned away from him, disinterested.

Lillie reached out to her son. “Leave the crystal,” she commanded Clover. Clover only scoffed.

“If you don’t obey me, I’ll—” Lillie threatened, but she was interrupted by the lightning-fast Zebra pecking dangerously close to her eyes.

“You’ll what?” Clover sneered, glancing at Zebra as he returned to her shoulder. He cheeped with amusement.

The Healer got up. She blew a strand of her hair out of her face. “You’ll kill us all one day,” Lillie concluded.

The girl boldly faced the woman, refusing to back down from a fight. “You’ll kill yourselves,” she responded.

“Go live in the forest. Be the wolf girl you’ve always wanted to be,” Dahlia shouted, Cedar standing beside her.

“Get out of the way!” Aurora suddenly ordered, pushing the villagers away. “What are you doing?” she demanded, facing her daughter.

“I’m taking this crystal,” Clover said in a low voice as it glowed brighter.

“Why? That rock hurt you,” Aurora murmured, gently caressing Clover’s bleeding face.

“Because I want to know what it is,” Clover explained, shaking off her mother’s hand.

“Leave it. Please. For your own good,” Aurora insisted calmly.

“No! I’m not scared of it,” Clover cried. “My father would have—”

“Maxwell is dead! Why can’t you be a normal girl?” Aurora yelled, bristling.

Clover, shocked, took a step back. Her heart was filled with pain. Dahlia’s mouth was open with surprise to see the kindest person in the village acting this way. Next to her, Cedar frowned, continuing to feel bad for Clover.

Aurora instantly regretted her hurtful and unnecessary words. Nonetheless, she asserted herself and ordered, “Come back to the house without that crystal.”

She swiftly turned around, not waiting for her daughter’s response. Clover noticed a slight imbalance in her mother’s shoulder, the clear sign of guilt and regret. Aurora only walked a short distance before Clover spoke up.

“I’m not coming,” she said firmly. Aurora immediately whipped around. Clover looked her mother angrily in the eye, then grabbed the steaming-hot crystal, ignoring the fiery pain.

Zebra chirped loudly at all the villagers. And, with that, Clover ran off into the darkness.