Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,26

after to comfort the less stable pixies. I wrap my arms around my knees and rock back and forth, watching the birds fly around the trees on the opposite side of the canyon. It makes me think of life back home. Is Poppy flitting around the trees like the birds before me? She has cross-pollination this month. Poppy loves pollinating; plucking the pollen from one flower and flying around the forest searching for its match to keep the flowers thriving. Okay, that’s really why I love pollination. Poppy loves it because it means she can fly anywhere she wants in the forest during work hours, which means she’ll be finding the necessary flowers wherever Tin or Mustard is stationed. Did she even worry when she realized I was gone? I think of her each night before I pass out from exhaustion, my lost sister.

At some point a bowl of mash is handed to me and I nibble mindlessly. I can still taste the flavors, today being raspberries and sunflower seeds, but I hardly care anymore. My body is too tired and too stressed. My stomach is grateful for the attention but my taste buds lack the same enthusiasm.

After I’m rudely lifted above the pit and placed in line, the spriggans notice we’re down a pixie. Who knew the stinky baboons could count? One walks the line, pausing at each pixie. When he comes to me he grabs my wrist and checks the number with his list. I wonder what number Orchid is. Was. How long had she been here, suffering away in this hellhole, repeating the same repetitive nightmare over and over and over again? How much time passed before she gave up hope and thought her best option was to plummet over a cliff? Or was she even lucid enough to think about what she was doing?

The question that bothers me the most: will I do the same thing one day?

I hope not.

My stomach churns and queasiness takes the top spot in my current list of ailments: all-over achiness, headaches, back pains, crankiness, malaise, calf cramps, exhaustion. And it burns when I pee, which is becoming rarer by the day. My skin is itchy and drying out; I know I’m not drinking enough water due to the painful bloating going on in my belly. Lack of water is probably making concentrated waste, which is why it burns coming out. I make a mental note to force several cups down my throat today whether I like it or not.

I work through the day the same as all the other mindless pixies. I don’t say a word and hardly look at anything but the mushrooms I’m chopping. I almost laugh when I pick up one of the pieces of flint I’m supposed to slice with. Are they afraid to give us knives? I suppose they’re afraid we’ll try to kill ourselves, but I think…yep, the warm crimson liquid flowing from my wrist proves the flint can nick us. Well, I know they don’t care too much if we die, so I guess the sprigs are afraid we’ll use the knives on them.

Heck yeah, I would. Every last one of them.

The day ends faster than I expect. I guess there’s something to being mindless after all. When we’re being carried back to the pit floor, I can’t help but notice the pixie being carried by the sprig ahead of me. The sun is setting so the light is dimming, but somehow I catch a glimmer shimmering off her wings. It’s weak, but the magic seems to be returning. I gasp because I didn’t think it was possible. None of the pixies I’ve seen here have any magic in their wings. They’re all thin, pale and really dried out. This little green pixie’s wings actually look like they’re recovering, at the beginning stages of becoming healthy and nourished once more. Weird her body looks the complete opposite.

Once we land I can’t help but catch up and reach out to touch her wings. A slight tingle zaps my fingertips. I don’t know why I touch them. Healthy wings always zap another’s touch, though does nothing if the wing-bearer herself touches them. I guess I do it to confirm my suspicions – that her wings are healing, though there’s only a smidgen of magic in them so far. A healthy set of wings would have zapped me hard. Surprisingly, she whips around in fear but eases when she sees me. I don’t know her name