A hand is on her shoulder, nails digging into her skin through the fabric of her shirt, and somewhere a voice is speaking in a calming tone. Talia drags a shaking breath into her lungs, clawing through the last vestiges of unconsciousness to take in her surroundings.

Observation is important, Polo always insisted. Keep notice of the world around you and the people moving through it.

So Talia catalogues what she can see: brown walls, made out of what looks like a combination of packed earth and wood; a dirt floor, with a small crater in the middle for a flickering fire; a tented ceiling of branches extending over her head; a hard bed of some kind beneath her, with a warm woolen blanket draped across her body …

And a woman—elderly, kind-faced, clad in some sort of robe that looks like it belongs in Clara’s books. Its white hem touches the floor and a green sash accents the women’s waist. More intricate green patterns line her billowing sleeves and wide collar, almost like crawling vines on Talia’s amulet.

Talia wonders again if she’s dreaming. Or she’s dead.

The lights, the car, Polo—

“Easy, child,” the woman says, still holding her shoulder.

“Where’s Polo?” Talia demands, shifting out of the woman’s grip.

The woman’s dark eyes widen and a shocked murmur runs through the room, making Talia realize that she and this woman aren't alone. There is a whole cluster of them gathered in the corner, dressed in the same robes.

“Where’s Polo?” she repeats, frustrated. “We were together. She was just here—”

She throws the blanket off and attempts to climb out of bed. The robed women surge forward, almost as one unit. Hands on her shoulders again. Her arms, her legs, trying to push her back into a horizontal position.

To hell with that.

Talia grits her teeth and once again something shifts inside her: that ancient force waking up, bigger than her skin, crawling right from her dreams. A gust of wind materializes above her, engulfing and shoving the women violently away. They cry out as they’re knocked to the ground, and Talia takes advantage of her opening.

She scrambles to her feet and runs from the hut, nearly tearing the cloth flap covering the doorway in her haste. Outside, she freezes a few steps from the hut and presses a hand over her hammering heart. She just … created wind. Out of nothing. How—

She glances up and feels her jaw drop

A blue sun sets on a distant horizon, behind towering mountains ringed in dense forests. The trees extend in a green swath all the way to the base of the tall hills the hut sits on. A village spreads out below her: similar huts arranged around dirt roads and fenced, cultivated fields. Grass ripples around her, brushing her legs, and for a moment she thinks she sees shadows crawling through them, slithering along the ground.

She shivers, brushes aside the fear with steely resolve. Focus.

First, she needs to keep moving. Put some distance between her and the strange woman who wants to hold her captive. Second, she needs to figure out where the hell she is and how she got here.

She remembers the street, the car, shoving Polo out of the way ... and then a strange green light, blinding her.

Green. Green, like…

Her hand flies to her throat and her fingers touch the smooth glass of the amulet still around her neck.

Okay. Okay, that’s good. Hopefully.

Her legs are shaky, but she starts wobbling through the grass, following the slope of the hill. From within the hut, she hears a voice calling for her and picks up her pace, nearly tumbling down the hill.

She’ll reach the trees and hide. Step one.

The shadows lengthen as the sun continues to set and Talia hesitates at the edge of the trees, peering into the gloom of the forest. Leaves rustle overhead, whispers in that ancient tongue. Only now, she can almost make out words that she understands.

“Baaaaack,” the trees seem to murmur, “you’ve come baaaaack.”

Talia grits her teeth, unwilling to let her fear rule her, and marches into the dark.

She’s still wary of wandering too far into the unknown forest so she stops a few hundred feet in, near a collapsed tree. It’s trunk is easily twice her height, like the Redwoods in a book Clara showed her once—trees that grow for thousands of years.

Talia leans against the rough bark to catch her breath. Okay, step two.

She removes the amulet from around her neck, cradling it in her palms. Spiderweb cracks run through the glass, nearly broken, though all the liquid remains inside.

Only open it in an emergency, Polo said. Well, Talia thinks this certainly qualifies.

She unscrews the lid and lets a little of the liquid pour out. It doesn’t drip to the ground like she was expecting, or create another bright flash of light that will magically transport her home.

Instead, it turns gaseous, and Talia watches, awed and half-terrified, as a message forms in front of her, casting an eerie glow through the darkened forest.

FIND ME.

A crackle of undergrowth to her left.

Talia spins, raising her fists, as a young man steps from between the trees. He’s annoyingly tall with a thin build and a narrow set to his shoulders. Dressed in a black tunic that looks like it belongs in a fantasy novel, his face is sharp in the cheekbones but softer along the jaw—inky black hair swept back from his forehead.

His blue eyes—illuminated by the message still hanging between them—are sharp and familiar .

Talia doesn’t lower her fists. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“I think I should ask who you are,” the man replies. His voice is quiet, genteel, with a hint of an accent that Talia can’t place.

He gestures to the dissipating message with a flick of his gloved hand. “Because I see you’ve met my mother.”