‘There is a thing we do,’ the Leszy says, ‘where we rearrange ourselves, cutting off pieces here and there to fit a mould that was never meant for us. I –’ he tosses the berry, catches it – ‘I know something of that. But becoming the Driada’s warden taught me one thing: if the world has not prepared a place for you, you must take up a hammer and chisel and carve one out for yourself.’
