Ostara looked up at the boy, trying to avoid touching the knife before her neck. She’d just spotted the first blue flower of the night, and there was sure to be a field nearby. 

“Flower.” She mumbled, pointing to it next to his foot. 

“A flower? What are you actually here for, bobolyne?” 

“Flowers, that’s all. I need to harvest the root-” 

He raised his foot over the flower. “Tell me your true intentions.” 

“You’re threatening the life of a flower?” 

“It’ll grow back.” 

“Yael would disapprove.” 

“Are they your patron?” 

“Are they yours?’ 

They stared at each other, neither taking the hand of trust hanging above their exchange. 

“I swear to my Deities,” Ostara sighed. “I’m only here for flowers. My village is not far from here, you can see-” 

“All I see is an enemy.” 

“A Wit- Of course I’m a Witch! Are you not?” 

“You’re telling the truth?” 

“Yes! I’m a Witch.” 

“Am a Wizard.” 

The hand of trust wavered over them and broke. This would never work. 

“I-I swear I’m not that far from Farehallow.” He clenched his teeth at the name. “I can’t be over the border. I can’t be.” 

“Well, you are.” he snapped, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the grove. “What were you even thinking, crossing it?” 

“I didn’t know!” she cried. 

“Hush.” his voice dropped to a whisper as he grabbed her shoulders and had her stop. “You need to go. Immediately. You don’t want to hear what they say about Witches here.” 

“What?” 

“You need to leave. Go back home and don’t turn back. Never cross the border again.” 

He stood behind Ostara and shoved her forward. 

Ostara stood still, staring at the grass ahead. She'd crossed the border. Hardly anyone had crossed it and been given this chance to be let off safely. 

She looked back at the boy, who stared down at her. 

“Why aren’t you moving? Trust me, I’m being nicer than them.” 

She hadn’t noticed her tears until the boy stepped forward, holding her shoulder. 

“Oh, I-I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to impose, it was just an act, I hadn’t realized-” 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, wiping her tears and fixing her face, following the voice that whispered instructions. Lower your mouth corners. Soften your eyes. Open your cheeks. Too much. Too little. Are you hollow? 

“I…oh, I don’t know how he’d feel about this. I-I have a friend who can take you in. Ah, Deities, this will be awkward.” He looked her up and down, but his gaze was unlike the other men’s. “Hide your hair in your tunic and put that hood up. What’s your name, Wi- sorry. Girl?” 

She lowered her hood to follow his words. “Ostara.”