“That is also the council’s official recommendation,” added the grim-faced councilman, nodding.

“But we aren’t soldiers,” said Englebert. “We don’t know the first thing about fighting.”

“They’re a small force, and lightly armed,” said Tombs. “They think we’re cowards who will flee at the first sign of force. But they underestimate us.”

“But won’t we need weapons?” asked another man. “Swords and clubs?”

“You surprise me, Eustace,” Tombs replied. “Can’t you turn a man’s face inside out just by pulling his nose?”

“Well, yes,” the man said sheepishly.

“And, Millicent Neary, I’ve seen you light fires with only your breath. Imagine how terrified those normals will be when you set their clothes ablaze!”

“You paint quite a picture!” said Millicent. “Yes, it would be something to send them running for a change.”

At that, the crowd began to mutter.

“Yes, it would be something.”

“Those normals have had it coming for a long time.”

“Did you hear what they did to Titus Smith? Cut him into bits and fed him to his own pigs!”

“If we don’t stand up for ourselves now, they’ll never stop.”

“Justice for Titus! Justice for us all!”

With little effort, the councilmen had whipped the peculiars into a fervor. Even mild-mannered Englebert was spoiling for a fight. Ymeene, whose stomach had turned at the first mention of a battle, couldn’t listen anymore. She slunk out of the village and went for a long walk in the woods. Returning at dusk, she found Englebert by his cook fire. His temper had cooled, but his resolve to fight had not.

“Come away with me,” Ymeene said to him. “We’ll start over somewhere else.”

“Where will we go?” he replied. “They want to chase us out of Oddfordshire!”

“Wontshire. Therefordshire. Peacewickshire. You’d rather die in Oddfordshire than live elsewhere?”

“They’re just a few dozen men,” said Englebert. “How would it look if we ran away from such a puny threat?”

Even with victory practically assured, Ymeene wanted no part of it. “How it looks isn’t worth sacrificing a single hair from our heads, much less a life.”

“So you won’t fight?”

“I lost one family to war already. I won’t watch another throw itself willingly into the furnace.”

“If you leave, they’ll think you a traitor,” said Englebert. “You’ll never be able to come back.”

She looked at him. “What will you think?”

Englebert stared into the fire, struggling for words. The silence between them seemed answer enough, so Ymeene slipped away and walked to her tent. As she lay down to sleep, a great sadness stole over her. She was sure it would be her last night as a human.

Ymeene left at the first inkling of dawn, before anyone else had woken. She couldn’t bear to say good-bye. She walked to the edge of the camp and turned into a hawk, and as she leaped into the air, she wondered if she would ever find another group that would accept her, human or avian.

Ymeene had only been flying a few minutes when she spotted the normals’ fighting force massed below. But it was no loose brigade of a few dozen men—it was an army of hundreds, and they blanketed the hills in glinting armor.