The smell of this island, the sweet fruit, the salt spray, the clear air…to outsiders it was intoxicating. To a sixteen year old boy who has never left it, it was a very pretty prison, only taking occasional trips to the mainland of the Crystal desert once a year. But something was different today, he […]
Poor Maya so easily thinks of herself as a burden. I think being a Hand left its own version of a mark on her: If she cannot be useful, she doesn’t have worth.