No one can sneak up on me, not even the curious rabbit poking her head out of the burrow. It’s a young one, and I know that if I stay still, she’ll come closer.

It’s all right, little one, I tell her. It startles her at first, but then she inches closer until she nudges my foot with her long whiskers. May I pet you? Rabbits don’t have words. They think more in feelings and instinct, and hers are warm and welcoming. I reach out a tentative hand, all the while sending her reassuring thoughts. Her fur is soft, and she nuzzles up next to me.

As I pet her, my mind wanders. I don’t have a lot of memories since the memory stealer took them. It’s like there is a thick, dull fog hovering in the back of my brain where those memories should be. With any luck, the librarians coming tonight will have answers. But what will I have to give in return? Reliving my time with the Lady is unpleasant. And tricky with all the gaps in my memories.

When the sun begins to flee the sky, I finally head back to Sebastian’s home. The afternoon spent with the uncomplicated minds of squirrels and earthworms and the occasional curious fox and rabbit has smoothed the edges of my worries. I bid my new woodland friends goodbye and get to my feet, steeling my spine.

I retrace my steps slowly, letting my hands rove over the bark of the trees along the way and whisper over velvety ferns. Leaving the peace of the woods is never easy, but today it is especially hard. The route from the village gate to Sebastian’s home takes me through the market square. Usually, there are so many people there that it’s deafening, but no single mind ever stands out over the others, which makes it bearable for the few moments it takes to pass through.

Today is different.

The minute I set foot in the square, a sickly feeling washes over me, strong enough that I have to sit down in the middle of the street. It earns me more than a few stares.

What’s wrong with her?

Should I ask if she needs help?

Hmph. Lazy child.

Icy hands seem to grip my throat as I scan the crowd. I don’t see anyone out of place. But that awful feeling remains, a taint of magic lingering in the air.

I scramble to my feet and push forward, following the feeling of that strange mind in the crowd. The noise rises as I get closer. My hands quake and twist in my skirts, but my feet keep moving of their own accord. When I press deeper into the mass of people, some minds scream louder than others. I do my best to push them away, but too many still get through.

What is he doing?

Poor woman, Joe must have fallen and hit his head.

I can’t see much until I reach a break in the crowds. A man and a woman argue by one of the stalls. On the surface, nothing much seems out of the ordinary. But the woman clutches the man’s arm while he tries to shake her off. I have seen them before—they’re a nice couple. The woman sells flowers, and the man fixes odds and ends for a price. Sometimes at the end of the day, she lets me have one of the flowers that are starting to wilt.