was the happiest time Ymeene could remember.
Every few days, though, the village’s tranquil bubble was punctured by woeful tidings from the outside world. Desperate peculiars arrived in a steady stream, seeking refuge from terror and persecution.
Each had a familiar tale to tell: they had lived peacefully among normals their whole lives, until one day they were accused of some absurd crime and chased out, lucky to escape with their lives. (Like the unfortunate sisters of Stitch, not all were so lucky.) The peculiars welcomed the new arrivals just as they had welcome Ymeene, but after nearly a month of influx the village swelled from fifteen peculiars to fifty.
There wasn’t enough space or food for things to continue this way indefinitely, and a sense of foreboding began to weigh heavily upon the peculiars.
One day another representative from the Council of Important Peculiars arrived. He wore a grim expression and disappeared into Tombs’s tent for hours, and when he and Tombs finally emerged, they gathered everyone together to deliver some distressing news. The normals had already driven peculiars out of many of their towns and villages, and now they had decided to drive them out of Oddfordshire altogether. They had assembled a force of armed fighters that would soon be on the peculiars’ doorstep.
The question now was whether to fight or flee.
Needless to say, the peculiars were alarmed, and not a little hesitant.
A young woman looked around them and said, “This hill and these flimsy tents aren’t worth dying for. Why don’t we pack our things and go hide in the woods?”
“I don’t know about all of you,” said Tombs, “but I’m tired of running. I say we stand and fight. We must reclaim our dignity!”
“That is also the council’s official recommendation,” added the grim-faced councilman, nodding.
“But we aren’t soldiers,” said Englebert. “We don’t know the first thing about fighting.”
“They’re a small force, and lightly armed,” said Tombs. “They think we’re cowards who will flee at the first sign of force. But they underestimate us.”
“But won’t we need weapons?” asked another man. “Swords and clubs?”
“You surprise me, Eustace,” Tombs replied. “Can’t you turn a man’s face inside out just by pulling his nose?”
“Well, yes,” the man said sheepishly.
“And, Millicent Neary, I’ve seen you light fires with only your breath. Imagine how terrified those normals will be when you set their clothes ablaze!”
“You paint quite a picture!” said Millicent. “Yes, it would be something to send them running for a change.”
At that, the crowd began to mutter.
“Yes, it would be something.”
“Those normals have had it coming for a long time.”
“Did you hear what they did to Titus Smith? Cut him into bits and fed him to his own pigs!”
“If we don’t stand up for ourselves now, they’ll never stop.”
“Justice for Titus! Justice for us all!”
With little effort, the councilmen had whipped the peculiars into a fervor. Even mild-mannered Englebert was spoiling for a fight. Ymeene, whose stomach had turned at the first mention of a battle, couldn’t listen anymore. She slunk out of the village and went for a long walk in the woods. Returning at dusk, she found Englebert by his cook fire. His temper had cooled, but his resolve to fight had not.
“Come away with me,” Ymeene said to him. “We’ll start over somewhere else.”
“Where will we go?” he replied. “They want to chase us out of Oddfordshire!”
“Wontshire. Therefordshire. Peacewickshire. You’d rather die in Oddfordshire than live elsewhere?”
“They’re just a few dozen men,” said Englebert. “How would it look if we ran away from such a puny threat?”
Even with victory practically assured, Ymeene wanted no part of it. “How it looks isn’t worth sacrificing a single hair from our heads, much less a life.”
“So you won’t fight?”
“I lost one family to war already. I won’t watch another throw itself willingly into the furnace.”
“If you leave, they’ll think you a traitor,” said Englebert. “You’ll never be able to come back.”
She looked at him. “What will you think?”
Englebert stared into the fire, struggling for words. The silence between them seemed answer enough, so Ymeene slipped away and walked to her tent. As she lay down to sleep, a great sadness stole over her. She was sure it would be her last night as a human.
Ymeene left at the first inkling of dawn, before anyone else had woken. She couldn’t bear to say good-bye. She walked to the edge of the camp and turned into a hawk, and as she leaped into the air, she wondered if she would ever find another group that