She closed her eyes, memories of her ma flashing through her mind: the sound of her laugh, an unapologetic snorting sound that erupted anytime Perfidy said something funny, which was more often than she ever intended; the warmth of her ma’s arms around her in the cold of winter when they ran out of wood for the fire; her ma’s smile on Perfidy’s last name day, when she presented her with the very necklace she hadn’t taken off since, a small amethyst set in a copper frame, a family heirloom that had been passed from mother to daughter for three generations.

I don’ want to die, she thought.

Everything stopped.

The rush of the wind through her ears died. The shriek of the eagles vanished. The pinpricks of pain subsided.

She opened her eyes, staring at what she saw, trying to make sense of it.

She was looking upwards, the branch hovering over her, as still as an icicle hanging from the eaves in winter. She frowned, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. She twisted her head to one side, seeing the ground beneath her, except she couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel its hard surface or the brittle leaves and twigs poking at her back.

“Remarkable,” a voice said, sounding rather out of breath.

She gasped as she continued her fall, except now it was only a mere foot off the ground, the impact weak, akin to falling back onto one’s bed. The bigger concern, however, was the sizeable branch, which was also reclaimed by gravity, carving a path right toward her head.

She covered her head with her arms, trying to protect herself as she stared at certain death through her web of fingers. The branch shattered without ever hitting her, bursting into a thousand specks that twinkled before fading into nothingness.

“How?” she said, before remembering the voice that had broken her concentration. She peeled her arms away and looked upside down at a form standing over her, watching her with interest.