The days dragged on.
Sonder walked, day in and day out, though sometimes her steps grew slower, more mechanical.
She ate when she had to, or when she thought she ought to. Her body did not clamor the way it once had, or how she remembered it.
Hunger gnawed at her less. Sleep, too, came rarely and strangely.
She dozed here and there, an hour at most, her head pillowed against her arms or a tree, but never as long as she should have.
Always she woke sharply, still restless, with the sense she needed more, but she never caught it.
Maybe it was like eating, and she needed far less than she thought. Maybe even none at all.
That wasn't a good thought. She feared that in the monotony of travel, she might lose herself in time, as she had before.
So she forced herself to think, of anything to keep her mind alive.
More than once, as she trudged the road, she thought of Hiraeth.
The little sprite, with his soft voice and green glow. She missed his company.
Hiraeth was not gone. Vell's satchel had been destroyed, yes, but the satchel was only a doorway.
It led to Vell's library and home, which was also Hiraeth's home. She remembered him speaking of a garden he kept for himself.
He had food, and safety, and she hoped he had everything else he needed.
And besides, he so rarely came out at all. Perhaps he didn't even know what had happened, that Vell lay sick, and that Sonder walked the road alone.
The thought made her chest ache. She almost hoped he didn't know, but it would have been better if he did.
On a day unlike the others, voices broke the monotony of the road.
Distinct voices, dozens of them. Sonder quickened her pace over the rise until she came upon a gathering of travelers by the roadside, wagons drawn into a loose circle, people milling about.
She was curious, glad to see something other than nature and the endless dusty road. She slipped nearer, keeping to the edge until she could see what held their attention.
At the center stood a man in a patched red cloak, his hands moving quick as lightning.
Cards flickered between his fingers, coins vanished and reappeared, scarves uncoiled from his sleeves. With every flourish, the crowd laughed or gasped, some dropping coins into the wooden bowl at his feet.
The man bowed low with exaggerated grace. "Ladies and gentlemen, young and old! The world is full of wonders, yes? But none so wondrous as the eyes that watch them! For what is magic without marvel? What is a trick without a dreamer to believe it?"
He tossed a handful of glittering powder into the air, and for a heartbeat, it looked like sparks. Children squealed and clapped.
Sonder looked on and wondered. The man didn't look like a magician to her, but then, what did a magician really look like?