She’ll struggle to remember the actual details of breakfast, the texture of the oatmeal, whether the juice was cold and delicious or slightly warm and slimy. “Where is the sacrifice? But this…” and the old man gestured to the dark maw growing on the screen. He could hear the bees going back and forth from the wild thyme flowers, the splash of a duck alighting on the lake, the clopping of a wooden wind chime in an almond tree. “You know,” Mria says.
“I don’t think it was prejudice which kept me alone, though I can’t be certain. She wondered what would happen if she forgot how to speak, just as the dodo had forgotten how to fly. For the most part we fed ourselves and so could use our credits on improving Amaryllis and bringing in specialties like rice and honey, or fabric and rope that we couldn’t make in quantity. His chest hurt and his throat felt thick.
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