“What about shiny pieces of metal?”
“They’re trolls, not raccoons. They don’t care about shiny pieces of metal. Though something shiny would help draw their attention.”
“What do they want, then?”
Stef threw up his hands. “How should I know? Do I look like a troll?”
“A little.”
He rolled his eyes.
“My brother is a scavenger. He can take us into the old city to look for something.” I pushed my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes and glanced westward, but the crumbling towers weren’t visible through the dense forest.
“That sounds like your brother is useful, not you.”
Without another word, I turned and started deeper into the woods, back on the same aimless path as before. Footfalls thumped behind me, but I ignored Stef’s approach, even when his hand landed on my injured shoulder. I shook him off, keeping my face hard against the pain.
“Sorry.” Stef kept my pace. “I was joking. Can’t you take a joke?”
I stopped walking and balled up my fists, but I wouldn’t hit him. I’d never hit anyone in my life, and I wouldn’t let this obnoxious stranger be the first.
Stef glanced at my hands, though, and raised his eyebrows. “Wow. Calm down.”
“Only jerks blame their victim for not being able to handle a joke. Or tell them to calm down.” I was overreacting. Stef couldn’t possibly know this was a refrain I’d heard too often from Father and Fayden, but the words were out.
Stef held up his hands in surrender, his cocky smirk vanishing. “You’re sensitive.”
“Go lick a plague house.”
“Really sensitive.” He made a face. “I said I’m sorry. And I do mean it.”
I sucked in a breath of the hot, muggy air to clear my head. “I’ve had a bad day.” A bad life was more like it. And Mother’s death meant that it would only get worse. She’d liked my music. She’d understood it. Now she was gone.
Stef eyed my shoulder, then my cheek, and nodded. “Guess so.” I didn’t offer details, and—incredibly—he didn’t ask. “Well, do you think your brother would help?”
“He might.” The truth was, I hardly saw Fayden anymore. My encounter with him this morning had been unusual. “You said trolls come looking for water, right?”
He nodded. “As far as anyone’s been able to tell.”
I rubbed at my sore shoulder again, thinking. “What about colored glass? Blue glass, to trick them into thinking there’s water reflecting sunlight. But then they get too close, and wham.” I made a tiny explosion with my hands. “Or whatever your invention is supposed to do.”
Stef narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, that might work. I’d have to position the glass just right, so it would mimic running water. But where would we get blue glass? Neither of us can afford to buy anything like that.” He left an opening, but I didn’t tell him how I knew about it. “How many traps could we make from it?”
Where had that “we” come from? I ignored it. “I don’t know. Several.” I hesitated. “I can show you the glass.”
“Right now?” His eyes widened with delight.
I checked the sky; it was almost noon. Who knew how Father would react if I didn’t make it to Janan’s gathering today?
Humiliate myself, or help a potential new friend find a way to defend the Community against trolls?
“Yeah,” I said. “We’ll go right now. It’s in the old city.”
“And your brother?”
I wished I’d never brought up Fayden. Older, stronger, more useful. “I think he’s already there, in the old city. I don’t know if we’ll see him. Anyway, I know where the glass is. You should be able to figure out whether it will work by looking at it, right?”
Stef nodded.
“Good. Then let’s go.” I waved him down the path, away from the Community.
The sun beat through the thinning canopy, making sweat drip down my face and neck. Insects buzzed and birds called; the woods grew noisy with thirsty wildlife as we walked. Just before we broke through the woods, Stef stopped and faced me, his expression twisted with amusement.
“It finally occurred to me,” he said. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“You didn’t ask.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m asking now.”
“My name is Dossam.”
“Sam.”
“No, it’s Dossam.”
Stef shook his head. “Well, I like Sam better.”
“Well, it’s not your name.”
“I’m the one who has to say it.”
“And I’m the one who has to answer to it.” I bumped his shoulder with mine, cringing as a burst of pain flared. But I smiled, too, because he was smiling.
“I think we’re going to be great friends, Sam.”
In spite of the way my day had started—and the wreck of the last couple of weeks—I believed him.
3