The old woman had no human mourners, so Willowbright stayed; if not to mourn, then to mark her passing at least.

On the fourth night... ...I was at a wedding.

On the fourth night... ...I was at a wedding.

“The fish knows the lost stories,” Shemaiah said. “The stories from before the burning.”

My favorite story as a child was the one about the farmer who slits open his wife’s belly and plants an apple tree amongst her insides.