The shadows were long and the sunlight deep gold when someone knocked on my door. I opened it to Mags, who pushed a folded pile of clothes into my arms.

“I just remembered, you don’t have much variety in your wardrobe. You can wear these tonight. Actually, you can keep ’em. Large Bob said the only way he was ever gonna fit in those pants again was if he stopped eating entirely.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Say thank you and close the door.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Very much.”

I set the stack on the bed and looked at it. I didn’t mean to keep them, but I didn’t see how I could avoid wearing them tonight. It was a pity; the things I had on were Josh’s, which meant they were huge and had been washed and worn until they were soft as flannel. I didn’t look forward to clothes that hurt. I shook out the first thing on the pile.

It was a pair of black trousers with a stretchy drawstring waist and pleats at the top, made of brushed cotton twill. Underneath them was a cotton shirt, in a style I’d seen the interesting Indians wear in movies. It had an open collar and a low yoke, and wide sleeves gathered into cuffs. The shirt was wine-red, and the buttons on the cuffs and down the front were silver. It looked festive but restrained, and the whole business, once I put them on, felt as if I were proposing to go out in pajamas. Mags had understood about clothes that hurt.

I wish these people would stop understanding everything, I thought irritably. Something in my throat hurt, but I swallowed, and it went away.

The village square — excuse, the circle — was illuminated with lanterns hanging from all the lower tree branches, clusters of torch candles around the plank tables, and the bonfire. It sent almost enough light through the front windows to read by. I went to the kitchen and out the back door, and stood leaning on a porch pillar in the dark half of the night.

“Scared?” said Josh. I hadn’t seen him sitting on the steps.

“I… Yes, actually.”

“Sher said you weren’t a social animal.”

My hands opened and closed on nothing. Words pushed their way out of my mouth, unbidden and unwelcome. “Maybe I am, and there just aren’t any other animals like me.”

“What kind of animal do you think you are?” Josh asked, sounding mildly surprised.

I inhaled with my teeth closed. It made a hiss. “You know,” I whispered.

“What you think you are? Nope. I know what I think you are.”

“And what’s that?”

“A customized human being.”

“Well,” I said. “That was easy.”

Josh stood. I was on the porch and he was on the ground; he had to look up to meet my eyes. “It is easy,” he said. “Identity magic is the oldest and easiest kind there is. It’s what language is for.”