“You got sick,” she said, swapping one tin bucket for the next to feed her animals. “For a bit. Fever. It passed after a few days.” “It didn’t pass.” Chickens clustered inside the coop where she tossed cracked corn. “It became a part of you.” “Part of me? What does that mean?” Resting her hand atop the fence, she paused, watching them peck at the ground. “Your blood is their blood now.” “Whose blood?” Nothing she said was making sense. “The dead, Girl.” Huffing, she swapped the cracked corn for a bucket of water and filled a trough. “Blood given for blood taken. Can’t be undone now.” Blood
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