"Move, little fool!" Yuwei's hand shoved Wanwan. Lightning split the sky above the pine; rain hit the hill in a sudden clap. "Watch out!" someone shouted, but the shout came too late. Wanwan's body tumbled. She hit a rock with her small head and folded. "No!" a woman screamed. "God help her." "Who pushed her?" an old man barked as he ran up the slope. Yuwei didn't slow. She turned and ran down the path before the question finished forming. "Yuwei!" a youth grabbed at her sleeve and missed. "Stop!" "Help the child!" another voice said. "If she's dead—" "She's not dead yet," someone muttered, and the mutter shut down into a frightened hush. Wanwan lay very still. Rain washed thin lines of red down her hair into the dirt. A green sprig stuck from her clenched fist, bright against the mud. "What's that in her hand?" an old woman asked. "It could be nothing," a man said, but his voice trembled. "Let me see." A pale boy stepped between villagers and Wanwan. He moved with the quiet of someone who had walked long distances and learned to take small spaces. He crouched next to her without asking. "Don't touch her head," he told them. "Don't pull the sprig." "Why not?" Someone sounded petty and frightened. "If it's nothing, we should get her home." The pale boy's eyes were steady. He reached and pried Wanwan's fingers open with careful