They did as he suggested, keeping the little goat in the barn, though she complained about her confinement. It was a good thing she was tied up because the storm that arose suddenly that night was vicious, a swirl of black in the sky that gave way to a drenching rain, and then sudden hail, so that it seemed stones were being thrown on the roof. The wind was dreadful; it shook the house and the trees. Branches broke, haystacks went flying into the air, sunflowers were pulled up by their roots. Anything not tied down rose into the whirlwind before dropping to the ground with a crash.

Lea curled up and slept through most of the storm, but Ava was more restless than usual. She looked out the window to see the darkening sky. She was thinking about running away. She had been thinking about it ever since they’d come to the farm.

Erase the e and turn emet into met, truth into death.

But what would happen then? Would she melt into clay or water, or would she die with all of the pain and agony of a mortal death? She should be satisfied merely to obey her maker’s will, but that had changed. She had awoken to her life, and she didn’t wish to give it up. She had become attached to this world, to fields and trees, to the heron and the sky, to feeling her heart beat, for she had one, she was sure of it now, even if it had begun as clay. She could hear the birds in the trees, telling her to run as far as she could from the world of men. Creatures such as herself were not made to have a soul, they were made to do the bidding of their makers, but she had already lived for too long, just as the rabbis warned, she was stronger now, uncontrollable, making her own decisions, defying what she had been told to do.