Far From Home
Dragonfly had been working since first light, her body already weary by the time the sun cleared the horizon.
Now, at midday, the sky was a cool blue, the sunlight soft, almost kind.
But there was nothing soft about her morning.
She’d shed her coat hours ago, sweat dampening the back of her blouse, her sleeves clinging to her arms. She’d spent half the day shoveling hay, scraping muck from the stalls, scrubbing down the outdoor pens until her hands stung through her gloves.
She leaned against the rake, breathing heavily, her whole body humming with dull aches.
Her shoulders throbbed from lifting, her knees stiff from crouching and rising over and over.
Even the soles of her feet pulsed. The ache in her stomach was sharper—a hollow twist that reminded her she hadn’t eaten since early morning.
Breakfast felt like something that had happened to someone else.
At her feet, a brown goat tugged at a wrinkled weed with impressive determination.
She watched it absently, too tired to laugh at its stubborn joy.
In the farther pasture, two horses swayed their tails in a lazy rhythm, unbothered by the world.
The rest of the herd—cattle and horses both—were specks scattered along the horizon, grazing in the vast silence.
Beyond them, the land unfolded in every direction, impossibly flat except for the sliver of trees that bordered the east. It was autumn, and the tall grasses had turned that deep, burnished gold—bright and tender all at once.
The color filled her chest. It was the same gold as Collin’s meadow, the same warm hue that bathed his glade in late autumn light.
She could see it now, clear as if she were standing in it, the wind rippling through the grasses, his voice somewhere behind her, calling her name.
She turned toward the east. Her eyes lingered on the line of trees, where the foothills began their slow rise toward the mountain.
Soon, the pass to the summit—to Chroma—would vanish beneath winter’s weight, buried in snow and sealed until spring.
But to her, it was more than a season’s obstacle.
It was a wall. A cruel, unmoving wall between her and everything she longed for—and everything she could no longer reach.
Tears pricked at her eyes, sharp as cold wind. She blinked hard and looked away. No. She wouldn’t think of him now.
She shut her eyes against the wide, empty stretch of farmland.
But the memories came anyway, crisp and vivid.
She could almost feel the glittering frost sting her cheeks, taste its sharpness in her breath, smell the pine needles crushed underfoot.
She could almost hear the satisfying crunch of her boots as she pushed through the fallen leaves.
She breathed in slowly, letting the ache unfurl with the image. For one blissful moment, she was home. Home in her forest of North Town. In the narrow loft above the cobbler’s shop. In her small bed, curled beside her sister and Auntie, wrapped in quilts that smelled of woodsmoke and lavender.
A loud creak snapped her out of her reverie. The big white sow had managed to nudge the latch open with her snout. The gate swung wide—and off she went, snorting and galloping toward the woods with surprising speed for an animal her size.
“Oh, Gloria,” Dragonfly groaned, squinting against the glare of the midday sun. “Not again.”
That horrid creature was always running off.
She let the rake fall into a fresh pile of hay and hastily shoved the old goat back into his pen. Then she sprinted to the barn, grabbed a rope from its hook, and stomped off after the pig—this time, she was not letting Gloria get away.
Dragonfly tore through the underbrush, breath snagging in her throat. How was it possible that four squat legs could move so fast? Gloria barreled ahead, all determination and snorts, crashing through the brush with gleeful abandon.
“She’s beautiful,” Dragonfly muttered under her breath, dodging a low branch, “and completely insufferable.”
It wasn’t hard to find her. The white sow had made a beeline for her usual haunt—a blackberry bush near the edge of the woods—and was currently demolishing it with snorts, chomps, and the occasional triumphant squeal.
Birds burst from the canopy, squirrels scrambled up trunks, and somewhere nearby, an animal fled in terror.
Dragonfly didn’t slow. She slipped the rope over Gloria’s broad ears, looped it tight around her thick neck, and gave it a firm tug.
“Come on, Gloria.”
The sow let out a furious squeal, dug in deeper, and disappeared halfway into the bramble.
“Gloria, no! You have to go home!”
Dragonfly planted her boots, braced the rope around her hand, and shoved with her knees—trying to wedge the beast backward. It was like trying to uproot a boulder with her shins.
She gritted her teeth. “Is it your life’s mission to make me hate pigs? You may be some prize-winning sow, but to me, you’re just a walking ham roast!”
The sow only grunted and pressed harder into the bush. Then, with a sudden pivot, she turned and charged—not away, but forward—dragging Dragonfly like an old sled through the undergrowth.
“Gloria! Stop! You pig!”
Branches whipped her arms. Brambles snagged her skirt, scratched her calves. The rope bit into her hands, and still, Gloria plowed ahead, utterly unbothered.
Dragonfly tried to dig in her heels, but the soft ground gave way beneath her. Her hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks, her chest burned, and her curses grew increasingly unhinged. At one point she heard herself yell, “I hope you get eaten by wolves!” which wasn’t even close to true.
Finally, she flung her arm around a skinny pine and held. The bark scraped her forearm, the rope burned across her palm, but she wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not after all this.
“Enough,” she hissed through her teeth. “You are not winning today.”
Gloria let out an indignant squeal and jerked the rope again—but Dragonfly clung tighter, legs shaking, breath ragged.
A man’s gruff voice suddenly called out from the trees.
The unexpected sound sent a shutter down her back. But it wasn’t just surprise. Something in the man’s tone—a strange, almost oily casualness—set off an alarm deep in her gut. She didn’t immediately recognize his voice, but she knew instinctively that she shouldn’t trust him.
Auntie always said to leave when a man watched too closely. And there had been stories—so many stories of what the guards did to girls in the woods, by the roads, near the lakes...
Her heart hammered. The warning was clear, forget Gloria for now—pay attention to the man.
She let go of the rope. Gloria bolted with a triumphant grunt. Fine, let the spoiled swine forage for now...
A man stepped from the trees, his face split by an amused grin. A danger in his eyes gleamed—a predatory glint that instantly made her stomach drop.
His dark green uniform bore Montigo’s seal, embroidered in gold below his right shoulder. A lower-ranked guard. She’d seen men like him patrolling the summit markets. In fact, she thought she’d seen this very man before.
He took a step closer. “I used to see you around Chroma and the shops. You’re from North Town, right?”
Dragonfly’s eyes flicked around the woods, searching for an escape. Dread spread like cold water through her chest.
The guard stepped closer. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. What are you hiding from?”
Dragonfly forced a tight smile but stayed silent.
Guards were menacing in general—it was their job—but this one.
.. She didn’t know why—only that her body knew before her mind did.
A flicker in his eyes, a shadow unspoken and wrong, made her skin crawl like it remembered a danger she hadn’t yet named.
A memory came back to her now. In the spring, she’d thought she was being followed on the North Town paths.
When she’d accidentally bumped into Lekyi on the road, the man had veered away as if losing interest. She’d dismissed it as coincidence, but when she told Lekyi, he had warned her—carry a knife whenever you walk alone.
The guard’s smile widened, sharp and toothy. He looked like a wolf sizing up a lamb. “My name is Morrison, or Morr. You’re Dragonfly of North Town, right?”
She said nothing. Her mind pulled in two directions—run for the farmhouse or stay because Gloria’s safety was her responsibility. That pig was too valuable to leave alone in a wolf-stalked forest.
“What are you doing alone in the woods?” Morr asked, stepping even closer. “It’s not safe for little girls to wander out here by themselves.”
Little girl. Her jaw clenched. Fury sparked beneath her fear. The guards always belittled the mountain girls, called them children while dragging them into the woods. She unwrapped her arm from the tree, working to keep her breathing steady after the struggle with Gloria.
She studied the guard carefully. Did he have cause to arrest her?
She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Her employer had a permit for this land and the animals on it.
Still, there were so many laws about livestock that no one could remember them all.
If Gloria damaged property, Dragonfly could be held responsible.
She forced a pleasant smile and spoke at last. “My employer’s pig escaped from her pen. I’m just trying to bring her home. Her owner will be very upset if she’s lost or injured by predators.”
Dragonfly quickly moved toward Gloria, still trampling another bush just a few yards away. But Morr shifted in front of her, deliberately blocking her path and bumping her hard with his shoulder.
She stumbled backward, startled by the sudden contact. Before she could recover, Morr’s massive hand clamped around her left arm.