Thirty
On the fourth day, Grace woke to screaming. She shot up on the cot, shoving Heron’s heavy arm off her chest, and was out of the tent before fully understanding what she was doing. She followed the cries through the rows of tents out into the opening. It was coming from the adjacent trees.
She ran, closing the distance until she found the source of that pitiful sound.
It was a girl, no older than ten or eleven, rolling around on the ground.
“What is it?” Grace dropped down beside her. “What’s happened?”
She searched the area but saw no raiders. No wild creatures or anything that alluded to danger.
“My leg,” she cried. “My leg!”
Henna, Joanna, and Heron appeared just behind her.
“That’s a bad break,” Heron said with a hiss. “Look how the bone’s coming out of the skin.”
The gi
