Life cycle started early this year.
He stretched, causing the book to fall. It landed open and the wind tugged at a loose page. Cayce’s faded face stared up at him.
Warm air. Butterflies. Nightmares.
Evans knew what was coming. He’d memorized Cayce’s predictions, the ones carefully recorded by his followers long ago. The Sleeping Prophet, they called the ancient psychic, who dreamed of cures for illnesses, answers to questions. And yes, prophecies.
Evans snatched the book from the ground and made for the village, cursing his old limbs and the uneven footing.
***
Amari hummed an old tune while she peeled the papery skin from a fat yellow onion. She sang a few words while chopping, then laughed at herself when she couldn’t remember the rest. The water in the cookpot splashed as she dum
