“Again.”
Ryoko hesitated. “Ylva… We’ve been at this for hours.”
“I’m not tired. I want to try it again.”
“I… Okay. One more.”
Just as Ryoko instructed, I drew in a deep breath, deliberately and intently filling my chest. I closed my eyes to imagine the scene she described, trying to fan the flames in my stomach. Except… Wind Children didn’t have fire in their stomach. We were wind, free and wild.
For the tenth time, I tried to heat up my gut and think of what fire meant to me. A positive, personal connection. The smell of sulfur when a match was struck and the small, joyous flicker of fire it brought. The soft crackling of the hearth in winter with the occasional ember sparking up. The way the stove back home clicked thrice before the gas ignited, a prelude to one of the rare dinner p
