Most people don't look up, animals look up, because they know that there is no true safety. His voice held a thread of anger in it. What are you doing? Wicked asked. Blood can't hurt us, Micah said.
He did a movement with his stomach like a belly dancer, and his rhythm changed, grew more urgent and somehow smoother, or cyclical, as if he were doing a circle inside me, and out of me. I shook my head and felt that faint anger fade away. The smiling faces of him and his friends clustered around a cake. Where's here? I asked.
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