“The librarians are coming here?” My hands sway my skirts, even though I try to tell them not to.

Sebastian nods, and his mind begins to clear.

They heard about what Lady Aisling did to us. “They want to interview us both in order to record the incident. That’s what they wrote in their letter.”

The swell of hope subsides. “Then they’re not coming here to help me.”

“But they might be able to all the same. We can ask.”

I shrug, trying not to let my disappointment show too much.

“They’ll be here tonight. Jemma wanted me to tell you to be sure you’re home for dinner.”

And not muddy, Sebastian can’t help but think.

I’ll do my best, I think back. My talent allows me to both hear and send thoughts. He smiles.

Jemma gave up on making me useful weeks ago. I tried, but the tasks she gave me just couldn’t hold my attention for long. There are too many minds, too many conversations, too many voices. It is loud and distracting, and I forget what I’m doing sometimes. The best she hopes for now is that I remember to come home after wandering in the woods or the village. At least I haven’t forgotten that yet.

“I will, I promise.”

“Are you going to the woods?” Sebastian asks, just as he does every day. I give the same answer too.

“Yes.” I pause, already knowing what he’s going to say next. “And I think I’d rather walk alone today.”

He means well, but I go there to feel the quiet. Bringing him with me would defeat the purpose.

Sebastian and Jemma are kind to let me stay with them, but they are not quite mine. It doesn’t help that I can hear their thoughts. Mind reading may sound like a wonderful talent, but the reality is less fun. In a village like this, full of people and lives and little red-roofed houses, all those minds are a constant dull roar. Sometimes when Sebastian is talking to me, I don’t hear him over it at first. I have to work to block the minds out. Actual silence is a rare thing.

I slip out of the house, breezing by my friend, my head already full of silent leaves and babbling streams.

* * *

I trace the lines the streams make throughout the woods for hours until I finally sink onto the edge of a bank. The water doesn’t think; it just gurgles and moves cheerily on its way. Every day is the same. There are no surprises for it, and even if there are, it simply flows around easily.

I am not water, though sometimes I wish I was.

I tuck my knees up to my chest and close my eyes, letting my magic reach out to my surroundings. Mind reading gives me a different sort of sight, almost like a new sense. I can feel any nearby minds. I’ve never measured the range, but the closer I am physically, the louder they are. There’s a rabbit burrow nearby, hidden by a thicket, with a mother and three little ones. Mice and squirrels roam the underbrush, and every now and then the slippery thoughts of a silver fish swim past.