magic, she hoped.
Yet, as she gathered up the folds of her dress, she felt a difference in herself. The craft has left its mark on me all the same. I can’t go back to being a child, not after all that’s happened. As the wind rustled across the bracken, she thought she caught just the merest hint of a spell; just the briefest chuckle of magic hidden in the undergrowth, but then it was gone. Slowly, she got up and walked back to the camp.
End
Вы читаете The Moon Child
