There was no telling how far I’d gone, and without a map, I only have the sun to tell me I was going the right way. Pouring a bit of my water into the dirt, I mix and then smear mud onto my armor—even my special vambrace—to hide the shine.

Walking as quickly as I can while keeping a sustainable pace, I focus on every sound and smell, no matter how small. My stomach growls as the sun climbs, but I keep moving. There were only so many rations that could fit in the bag, and it could be days until I find another team. If I find another team.

So long as I was headed toward Ramsgate, I had the best chance of finding the others, but part of me was grappling with the possibility of having to venture into the city by myself. I can’t let the fear of that stop me. I have to do whatever it takes to find the cure.

But it sure as the skies would be easier with some help.

When the grumbling from my stomach gets to be too much, I cave and eat a few slices of bread and an apple. A mission like this is about surviving both the way there and the way back, but only one way matters right now.

At least I’d left the barren land around the Cliffs behind me. The dense forest farther east brought with it the comforting sounds of insects and birds. Sunlight streams through the branches, illuminating the dusty forest air and casting a pale glow on the earth. I inhale deeply, then let out a quiet whistle, calling up to any birds that are hiding in the tangle of branches above.

Nothing happens, and I’m disappointed but not surprised. It takes less magic to commune with birds than to shift between forms, but it still takes something. I envision gold threads, the way my mother taught me to think of it, extending from my voice and into the air. What it takes is a bird finding that thread and following it back to me. I whistle again, and after a few moments two tiny brown finches flutter toward me.

“Hi, little ones,” I say, smiling.

I tear off a bit of the remaining bread, leaving the crumbs on my palm. The birds land in my hand, their tiny bodies quivering as they enthusiastically peck at the bread. I brush my thumb across the feathers between their eyes, and they close their eyes in delight as I do. Another trick I learned from my mother. When they’ve eaten their fill, I call up the threads of magic again.

“Callen,” I say to one, diving into the magic pooled in my chest. “Ox,” I tell the other.