The next town.

Dreary words.

The next town.

I rub my eyes at the sparkling gold of the brick road, the shimmery yellow rooftops. "At least..." I begin to the jet bird, except she flutters high above. I don't finish to the child uncomplaining behind me, blistering feet leaving blood marks in the soil.

Never mind how he refuses to let me touch him. Even go near him. Give him bandages. Make shoddy sandals out of curved pelvis bones and twine.

I stop outside the town, where the road becomes a road and not a soil path through grasses. It's a solid divide, where this trail turns to golden road. As sharp as a light ray in gray clouds.

Belatedly, the child halts. Still well behind me, but closer than the whole past day. I shield my gaze and peer into the town, my eyes pound at the glittering yellow that reflects red sunlight.

The next town. What dreary words. I sigh. Maybe I could take bandages and wrap them around my eyes, pretend to be blind. Except that feels like risking too much. Likely for my magic to get found out that way, no eyes, but senses alight with pulsing heartbeats and moving veins.

"Let's just get this over with quickly," I whisper, trod shoulder-hunched to the blinding gold bricks. To the market to sell some bone necklaces, ask about places to sleep, try a real bed for once in over a week. Stay in said bed and eat mushrooms glazed with sugar syrup, orange vegetables mashed to melt over tongues.

The abrupt pounding of drums halts me as a physical force hardly two steps onto the gold street, my head pulses with the drums except off-beat. "Get this over with," I mutter, rub my temples. Just to the market, to buy bread and mushrooms and vegetables. Then go sleep in some far away bushes.

***

Maybe, another day, fewer red bumps on my arms, another place not quite as gaudy with gold; the very streets shimmer like gemstones and my vision shatters into spraying color if I study my feet too long--maybe, another day, I would appreciate the dancing.

There's a place through the circling streets of the town where a hundred hearts flutter, jumping and swaying in beat with the drums, generally speaking. The jet bird wheels over them, curious as wisping clouds, her thick beak clacking with the clangs of clean bells, her wings fluttering with the lilting slides of strings. Maybe another day I would appreciate it, but today I protest, planting my palms over my ears like I'm trying to hold my skull from splitting apart.

We wander through the empty echoing streets, the trailing child and I. Whatever this dance is for, it's a terribly unfortunate day. For the drums, for my skull, for the hollow space in the backpack where all my food has gone.

The child hardly seems to notice the pounding music, the gaudy colors, the rectangle houses all different heights but touching sides. Maybe I should be concerned; how tight is the tether to my shadow, what does he know about the beach and the dead fish and nearly drowning, where did the screaming version of him go?

I knock on a door, shiny white inside a gold frame. There's people inside this one. I replace my knocking fist back over my ear, until the blood inside approaches, then I lower my arms. The door slides, revealing a shoulder, then a round jaw, then black eyes.

I carefully smile. Quash the part of my heart that suddenly beats beautiful boy. "Hello," I say, "I've..." I remember the child, like a stray tree trunk in the street. "We just came from down the coast. I was wondering if you know of any places to room in this town? Or where I can buy food?"

He stands frozen with his hand on the door, mouth open, a toddler shouting from within. I shift, keep my hands from inspecting my hair lest there is something wrong and that only makes him notice.

"Hello?" I say.

He shakes his head. Points towards the child in the street. "Is he okay?"

"We just came from down the coast. It hasn't been easy," I carefully fold my arms.

Barefoot, he pads into the glimmering street and brushes past me, green shirt sprinkling flour to the doorway in his wake. I wrinkle my nose at the trailing scent of smoke. "I can help get you cleaned up," he says to the child.

The child steps backward, blood sharp.

I interrupt. "He lost his aunt," Smoke-shirt turns to me. "He..." I shrug. "He hasn't been talkative since I found him."

Smoke-shirt nods, "I get it," he smiles warmly, teeth yellow. "It's hard on kids, isn't it?"

I hesitantly nod, eyebrows furrowed.

"Burners?" he whispers. The child's eyelids slit.

I slowly nod.

He approaches me, placing a large hand on my shoulder. I twist my grimace into a thin-lipped smile.

"I lost my sister that way," he smiles back. Pauses.

I extract my shoulder. There's flour staining my shirt. "I lost a...friend that way too." More or less.

"Gotta be careful of those mages," he says, nodding. "Ruined a lot of families, they have."

"For sure," I make this smile meet my eyes. "So, anywhere we can pay for rooms around here?"

"Oh, of course," he places hands on his narrow hips, leaving stains on black leggings. "This road you're on will keep spiraling until it comes to the center. There's a festival there right now, but when the sun goes down it should open for regular business."

"Thanks," I quickly turn and walk away. The child ghosts after me. We leave Smoke-shirt the stray tree trunk in the street.

Silently, I thank the tether holding my shadow to me. The spike in his crystalline blood, his narrowing eyes, the stepping backward at the mention of Burners--Smoke-shirt nearly wilted there in the street like a crushed flower to silent breath.

So I think I found where the screaming child went. Lurking under the surface of a thin mask.