"So it was you, was it?"
Vica stared at the old, wizened man with unfocused eyes. She didn't know who he was or how he knew. But she knew exactly of what he spoke. "Yes," she whispered. There was no use denying any of it even to a stranger.
"You're very fortunate to live among forgiving people. I've passed through villages that would have hanged a mage for less if such things were permitted."
Vica had nothing to say. She twirled the yellow dandelion in her hand with a slow roll of her fingers and looked away at the setting sun. The way the light hit the lake and sent red splashes of color across its far edge no longer took her breath away, but she still came here whenever she wanted to be alone. She had wanted to be alone a great deal lately. The grass that tickled her crossed, bare leg
