Another hour slipped by, and Zaya hadn’t moved. The warning sirens had stopped crying out shortly after the sun had slipped behind the horizon, but that didn’t quieten the sound of screams weaving between the trees of the forest to her little cottage.
Although this had become commonplace in the forest, adrenaline continued to surge through her body.
Tucking her knees into her chest, she pressed herself against the wall and whispered, “No-one knows that I am here. No-one knows of the Lonely Cottage. They would not venture past the Wild Bridge. I am safe. Mother said I would be safe.”
There had once been a time when those with the Shimmering had been revered. Women possessing the glittery gift had been hailed as priestesses, and common-folk had swarmed from distant villages just to be in the presence of those with the iridescent auras.
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