If he doesn’t, Lizl is going toĭie, just like his dog died. But then one of the other acolytes-Kerta, who’d been the first hen caught- calls, “Lizl? Are you all right?” The boy realizes what’s happening. He’s too happy for the monster inside to be waking up. Even the muscles in his stomach hurt now, and his cheeks-oh, his cheeks! Which is why it takes him a moment to notice that Lizl is no longer moving. “Caught you!” Her fingers dig into the loose linen of his monastery tunic. Lizl’s hand slams onto the boy’s shoulder. The boy overheard his mentor discussing yesterday that they might move her up to the next level of training. She’s older, longer-legged, and nimble in a way none of the other acolytes are. He can’t remember if he’s ever laughed before today. Bubbling up his throat like the spring behind the dormitories. She’s the fox in this round, and the boy is the only hen left. His cheeks ache from the grinning, but he can’t stop. And certainly he has never smiled this much. Certainly, he has never been allowed in a game of fox and hen. Never has he been addressed by so many his age. For three peals of the chimes above the gatehouse, the boy has been playing with others.

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Bloodwitch susan dennard