The other women land on the boulder and crowd around me, the game at an end. Glitonea places a heavy hand on my shoulder and I shake my head, unable to face her.

‘Thiten is fine,’ she whispers. ‘She is a hard one.’

Thiten flies up then lands on the boulder and wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. She looks angry as hell, but she steps back and lowers her gaze. I’ve been in my fair share of fights – it doesn’t take much for things to kick off in a care home – and I can tell she knows she had it coming.

I hold my aching side and my face flushes with shame. Not because I hurt Thiten. I’m ashamed because I cried and made a fool of myself. I’m ashamed of being weak.

Glitonea wraps a comforting arm around me.

‘Do it again,’ she whispers. ‘Send the energy.’

I open my palm and a sphere of black light appears. I throw my arms out, making sure not to aim at anyone, but it doesn’t move. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and try again. Nothing. Heat creeps into my cheeks. I can sense them staring at me, wondering why I can’t do it. I did it before, so why not now? I think about Thiten, remembering how upset I was, and try to feel that way again, but it doesn’t work. It’s not that I don’t feel angry. There’s a seething pool of rage inside me – but I can’t let it out.

Keeping my eyes shut, I whisper silently in my head.

Moronoe, please help me.

I wait, hoping to feel something stir inside me.

Nothing.

I open my eyes and the women look as stricken as I feel.

‘I’m sorry we lost,’ I say quietly.

They turn away from me, each one facing a different direction, some sniffing back tears and others clutching their chests. One bites her lip and then they all do it; another clenches her fists and her neighbour does the same. It’s almost like they’re acting, pretending to restrain their feelings, but I know they’re not. I can tell their suffering is genuine from their expressions. It’s as if they’re passing a single emotion between them.

It starts to rain and I wipe my eyes, startled to see the women are changing. Suddenly they are haggard creatures: spines curved and wings drooping, their skin wrinkled and their hair sparse and grey. I blink and they look normal again, their appearance flickering from one form to another.

One by one they fly away until only Thiten is left. She opens her tatty black wings, the feathers ragged, then turns to me and hisses, ‘It’s not a game to us. It is life or death.’

24