no, she said quietly, voice edged with a rasp from salt wind and pain. not from here. not from... her gaze drifted—not to him, but beyond him, to the slope of the hills that reminded her too much of a home that would never be safe again. her side still ached where the man had grabbed her, tore fur from her hip like it was nothing. she had walked inland after that, mouth full of copper, silence in her lungs.
i come from plains, she added, after a long moment.
she didn’t smile. not because she wasn’t kind, but because smiles were something she’d learned to keep guarded, folded away like medicine. silatuyok, she told him, slower now, so he could try again without shame. you said it good.
the boy reminded her of her brother when he was small— full of too many questions and too much heart. i walk alone now. but i look. to learn. to remember who i was before. her voice trailed, and her eyes dropped to the ground, as if it might answer what she could not.
then, quieter, more to herself: the sea took something from me. the man did too. but i am not done walking.