Unnatural Magic

by C.M. Waggoner

You couldn’t argue with a blizzard or with Tsira’s mother, but at least the blizzard wouldn’t criticize your logic if you tried.

“I suppose you’re right. But I’ve often thought of how much time I would save if I didn’t have to think about hunger or thirst or cold or that sort of thing.” “They have that,” Tsira said. “Called being dead.”