My eyes strayed back nervously as the foremen pushed Roach to the very back of the line. She hadn't said a word to Beetle or me all day, no matter how much we prodded. She hadn't joined us in the fields today—the foremen kept her back for some reason. Based on the orange tint on her hands and the small nicks, they were likely having her peel carrots for dinner.

Sure enough, as we approach the front of the line, I saw that dinner was a combination of bread and carrots. Beetle made it to the table where they were giving out portions of food, and I was silently relieved when she didn't make a snide comment. It wasn't Tuck serving dinner, but the foreman was just as large and imposing. His beard covered half his face, and I could hardly see his mouth behind the thick fuzz. I quickly accepted my food and was happy to see sloppily cut carrots and a few pieces of bread left over. Quickly sidestepping, I paused, waiting for Roach to get her food and follow me to our bench.

"None for you, bug," the foreman said, the words just barely making it past his bushy beard. "Git."

The hairs on my arm suddenly stood up. "Sir?" I said softly. "Why isn't she getting any food?" I asked as gently as possible.

"Shut up and don't ask questions, bug," he said, spitting at me. I saw the gelatinous glob land a few inches away from my foot. "Or I'll take your dinner, too."

I nodded smally and jumped when Beetle's hand landed on my arm. Before I could stop her, she opened her mouth.

"Why aren't you giving the kid food?" she shouted incredulously. "You saving it all for your fat a—?" I yanked her back and interrupted her tirade.

She was an idiot.

The heavily bearded foreman stormed out from behind the table. His face was beet red as he raised a hand as if to backhand Beetle. I grimaced for her as she gave him a carefree smile. Was she brave or was she stupid? It was a line she seemed to dance along.

The foreman saw her face and froze. Instead of hitting her, he smacked the plate out of her hand. I heard the carrots clatter against the ground and saw that the plate had lodged into the soft dirt vertically. She simply set her hands on her hip and continued to smile. Her entire demeanor was daring him to hit her. He turned and knocked my plate out of my hand. I took a deep breath to steady myself as panic coursed through my body. Beetle didn't budge. Why was I a part of this?

My face focused on our fallen meals. They were recoverable, at least. I heard a soft cry and Roach bolted toward the dewloi quarters. My heart ached. When I was six, the last thing I had to worry about was whether I would eat dinner.

While I was paying attention to Roach, a violent pain exploded against the side of my head and I found myself on the ground, head thudding in pain. My hands were gripping the balding patch of grass and I winced, trying to figure out how I ended up here.

I looked up, blinking as the setting sun had doubled. Beetle hadn't moved an inch from her proud pose and two duplicates of the foreman were smirking down at me. I grabbed the side of my head, which was burned hot from pain. I looked at my hand, grateful that there was no blood.

Finally, the foreman glanced back at Beetle and rolled his eyes. He left, returning to the table with the remaining food. He picked up a piece of bread and bit into it, staring off into space. I grimaced as my vision began to clear. I could feel my heartbeat in my head.

"Sorry," Beetle said. I glanced up and saw she was offering a hand. "I couldn't let him win."

I winced and took her hand. She helped me stand and picked up our plates, placing our food back on it. It was likely accidental, but she handed me her plate—the one with mud covering half of it from where it had been lodged into the dirt.

She just smiled. "A little dirt never killed anyone," she said brightly.

I ignored her and made my way to our bench, biting into a carrot carefully with my back molars on the side of my face that wasn't beat. Maybe this was my fault. I had healed Beetle so many times, she never really saw the consequences of her actions. So, when I got caught in the crosshairs, she didn't think it was a big deal.

Beetle sat down next to me, clearly pleased with how she handled the confrontation. To her, she had won.

I didn't acknowledge her.

Finally, she noticed. "Sorry," Beetle said again. "They're oppressive jerks." She bit into a carrot. "They can't refuse to feed a little girl." I didn't say anything. What exactly had her confrontation won? Roach still didn't have dinner.

After dinner, Beetle and I went back to our room, and I found Roach asleep in her bed. Beetle quickly followed suit and I pulled the chair under the doorknob, testing it.

I climbed in bed and waited for Beetle to fall asleep. Once I heard her breathing even out, I headed to the window and pulled it open. I glanced back to ensure that the two of them were truly asleep. Their soft, long breaths told me it was the case. I needed to burn off some energy.

So, I slipped out the window and onto the roof below.

I pulled the window closed and walked to the end of the building. I surveyed the area for a couple minutes. Nothing stirred in the soft moonlight. Sinking to my stomach, I searched for a foothold on the trellis below and finally found a gap. My other foot found another hold further down and I made my way to the ground.

Quietly, I glanced around.

Clear.

Across the road, an old brown barn stood large and proud. Her doors rolled open silently as I slipped inside. It was dark, but an opening in the ceiling let moonlight reveal sleeping animals. The farm had pigs, a few sheep, and horses.

I quietly padded over to the one of the horses and slipped into the enclosure. I set my hand on the horse's side. He had a torn muscle in his hamstring. I took a deep breath and began to read healing into him. He woke up as I sewed his muscle back into order, and he gently nuzzled the side of my face. I winced as he brushed the spot where the foreman had hit me. I used my other hand to caress his face gently and keep him from touching my face. Once he was healed, I moved to the next horse.

As with any skill, the more I healed, the better I would become. If I wanted to contend as a healer in the army, I needed to be more valuable as a healer than as a breeder.

I needed a lot of practice.

Not many healers honed their skills on herd animals, I imagined. For me, they were my primary patients. That is, until I met Beetle. Her lack of awareness combined with her propensity toward being on the losing end of a switch made practicing much easier.

I had discovered my capacity for healing trying to rescue a horse.

The horse had broken a leg carrying a foreman. The foreman was trying to get her to jump over a stream, but the mare got spooked by the foreman urging the jump and ended up with a broken leg. He called a bunch of the dewloi to pull her out of the stream so he could kill her without contaminating the water.

As we tried to pull her out, I realized that her wound was invading my mind like a broken puzzle. As I sorted through the meaning and uttered it back, the horse's leg healed, and she stood up. I didn't know who was more surprised—the foreman, me, or the horse.

The foreman's report was dismissed as a drunkenness, and that report wasn't totally wrong. The foreman was drunk, and he claimed that the horse had risen from the dead. None of us dewloi were going to correct him.

It was then that I learned I was a Slate. It was rare for humans to have capacity for magic, but here I was, living proof. If I wanted to avoid a life as a breeder, I needed to be invaluable as a healer. If I was drafted for the army, I was one step closer to Anthony.

Once all the horses were healed, I made my way to the pig pen. They had awoken and were crowding the front of the pen in a lazy stupor. I stuck my hand in the pen and they nudged up against it. I would heal one and the next one would take its place. They were quite smart.

Sometimes I contemplated revealing my secret to the foremen. They could sell me off, but at least I would be free from the farm. But then I would think of Beetle. How could I leave her? Without me, she would have succumbed to her wounds years ago. Now I had Roach to protect. My eyes went to the feed that they had laid out for the animals.

Even the animals got food. Why not Roach?

I glanced down at the pigs grumbling against my hand as their little groans and sores were healed. Roach deserved to eat.