Eyes fell over me like a suffocating blanket. Some shop owners and citizens paused in their conversations and movements as I stumbled past. Gritting my teeth, I tried to straighten my gait when my stomach clenched with cramping, and my vision once again turned against me.

Debris cut into my bare feet. But the wagons were still in sight. If I could just make myself—

“Aster?”

I stopped so suddenly, I nearly fell.

The female cursed, snatching my arm and helping me beneath an awning.

Helplessly, I watched with blurred eyes as the wagon, as Scythe’s brethren, continued through the intersection at the end of the street and marched on toward the woods.

“Where are they…” I started, waving to the warriors. “I need them.”

“What in the stars for?” The female took my wild hand, then slid her arm behind my back. “They’re headed to the ruined village down the river. You’re bleeding, Aster.”

A youngling’s voice broke through the fog. “Mama?”

Maybe he was there, then. At this ruined village. Maybe I could still reach them.

But as the fog faded and I gathered my breath, I realized that maybe I didn’t need them. I blinked slowly, my eyelids made of sand, and looked at the female holding me. “Olivianna.”

Her hair appeared to be shorter, but it was her.

Her honey colored eyes roamed my face, concern pinching at her pink lips. The seamstress nodded. “I’d ask where you’ve been, but right now we need to get you fixed up before someone comes asking questions of their own.” A cursory glance behind me to the street confirmed that there were indeed curious eyes still upon me.

With Olivianna’s assistance, we hobbled to the intersection and veered left around the corner to a white door with blue trim, her son trailing with questions she couldn’t answer.

I steadied myself with a hand upon the doorframe while Olivianna fished a set of keys from a hidden pocket in her skirts.

A sign above us swayed with the gathering force of the wind, creaking. The tiny male, who looked to be no older than three or four years, tilted his head from behind his mother’s skirts as she opened the door to the shop. His obsidian eyes roamed me with nose-scrunching suspicion.

Inside, Olivianna helped me to a velvet chaise in the corner of the material cluttered shop. A metal table sat before it, and two armchairs in a floral fabric either side. On the hexagonal table sat a glass vase of fresh lavender and lavender scented candles, the overwhelming scent permeating the small space.

“Close the door and lock it, Ryon,” she instructed the youngling, who scratched at his golden-brown mop of curls and watched me from the doorway. “Then why don’t you head upstairs to your crayons and draw our guest a picture.”