Dominica Verda's P.O.V.

The field seemed to stretch on forever. Empty. The sky held the moment between twilight and nightfall, paused on the edge of darkness. My toes curled and dug into the loose, wet earth. A single ant crawled across the top of my foot and then somehow disappeared.

I’d been following the group through the forest in a single line, one foot after another. My head was cloudy, but I’d known where to step—I just had to follow the person in front of me. That was the way through the woods; the same way we got across the Rocky Mountains in heavy snow, and dry plains under the...