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Just a few days ago, for the first time, she played with some of the other village children, and in no time at all she had made herself their leader, though she was neither the oldest nor the biggest. She convinced them to play a game of find the wraith by rules I had never seen before. She didn't bully them, though I believe some of the other children are afraid of her She merely got her way, as she so often does.

I don't mean this to sound as mean-spirited as it probably does. It's late and I'm weary and I should be sleeping. She's a good girl, and I've come to love her very much. But she is someone who makes the world as she wants it, and woe to those who would stand in her way.

Except that isn't right either, for I can't imagine that her world is anything like what she imagined or hoped it would be just a few turns ago.

Dreaming Moon, sixth day of the waxing, 1147

At last, a spar of light in the shadows. Some of the mystery surrounding the poor girl was lifted today, though learning what I have I am more convinced than ever that she has been through a terrible ordeal, one she was fortunate to survive. And I'm equally certain that those she loved were not as fortunate as her

We were in the marketplace, as we often are in the mornings these days af – ter breaking our fast and walking in the garden to see how the crops are coming along and what damage one determined and cunning rabbit had done over the course of the previous night. We've never seen the creature, though he leaves ample evidence of his visits. Licaldi has named him Terki, after the trickster of Mettai lore. I think it a fine name and have resolved not to leave snares for him, though only a turn ago I would have done so without hesitation. Didn't I say that she almost always gets her way?

But I am avoiding that which is so unpleasant to write.

We were in the marketplace, looking at bolts of cloth that were being sold by a Qirsi merchant from the Talm'Orast. She'd been with me long enough, and had become so much a part of my home, that I wanted to make a cover for her bed, which now stands in the corner of my own bedroom. She had chosen a fabric we both liked and the merchant and I had agreed to a price of one gold and two silvers.

It was a good price for such fine material, but I'd known this merchant, a woman named K'Malai, for many years and she often does well by me when it's clear that I want something. She's wise enough to want to stay in the good graces of the village's eldest.

As I was pulling out the coins, she remarked that she hadn't seen Licaldi before and she asked the girl how she'd come to be living in Kirayde. I paused, interested to hear Licaldi's answer.

The girl looked at me, and I knew that she wanted me to help her to make up some story that would answer K'Malai's question without forcing her to delve into the truth. This one time, I refused her simply by doing nothing.

I saw anger flash in her emerald eyes and an instant later she spun away and fled the marketplace.

I called after her once, drawing the stares of others nearby, but Licaldi didn't stop.

"I'm sorry," K'Malai said. "I didn't mean to upset her"

"It's not your fault. She came to us just before the full of the previous moon, and we still don't know where she's from or what drove her from her home."

"You know nothing about her?"

"She's Mettai. Her name is Licaldi. She came to us half starved and wretched from having wandered in the wilderness for who knows how long. I believe that something terrible has happened to her, but I'm only guessing. We know nothing for certain."

The merchant appeared to consider this for some time, her hands on her hips, and her lips pursed. "You say she's Mettai?" she asked at length.

"She says she is. She's too young to show any signs of knowing blade craft." "Still, she looks it."

"If you suspect something, you'd best tell me. Even the hint of a rumor would be better than the nothing we know now."

"It's more than a rumor, though it's far from certain that it has anything to do with the girl. But there's a Mettai town south of here, one I used to stop in when I came up this way." She winced. "I say there is a town; I should say was. It was struck by the pestilence not long ago. As far as I know, no one survived."

"No one?"

She shook her head, a haunted look in her pale yellow eyes. Even for the Qirsi, whose power to heal the sick runs far deeper than any magic of ours, the pestilence is cause for terror "As I say, this might have nothing to do with her"

But I knew better "You said not long ago. Can you be more exact?"

She shrugged, narrowing her eyes. "About a turn, I'd say. Maybe a bit more."

It seemed to me that a turn would be about right. "What was the name of the village?" I asked.

"Sentaya."

I repeated the name and nodded. "Thank you, K'Malai." I gave her the coins and took my cloth.

"I hope this has nothing to do with the girl," she called after me, as I started to walk away.

"So do I," I answered. "But it does. It has everything to do with her"

I took the cloth home, hoping that I'd find Licaldi there. When she wasn't I began to grow concerned. She hadn't strayed far from my side since the day she arrived in Kirayde, and I didn't know if she could find her way back to the house without me. Clever as she is, though, I should have known better. I found her in the garden, sitting among the bean poles, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her long hair hanging over her face.

I sat down near her but I said nothing. I wanted her to start this conversation. For a long time, she remained silent, and I had the sense that she was just as determined that I be the first one to speak. I've heard parents speaking of engaging their children in a contest of wills. This was my first experience with such a thing. Does this mean that I'm a parent now? I feel that I become more of one with each day that passes.

Eventually I decided that this was a contest I didn't necessarily need to win. "Her question frightened you," I said quietly.

Silence.

"Eventually, you're going to have to tell me what happened."

That of all things drew a response.

"Why?" she demanded, tears on her face. "Why do you need to know? Isn't it enough that I'm here? Can't we just pretend that it's been like this all along?"

"This isn't play, Licaldi. And it hasn't been this way all along. Something happened to you, and if I'm going to take care of you, I need to know what it was."

She sat there a moment longer, and then she started to climb to her feet. I grabbed her arm and, not gently, forced her to remain where she was. I'd never done anything of the sort before, and she gaped at me as if I had slapped her across the face.