Daughters of Smoke and Fire

by Ava Homa

Settle for flying low and feeding on debris, and you’ll live a hundred years. “Chon beji sharta nakou chanda beji,” the eagle refuses. How long you lived was irrelevant; what mattered was how you lived.

“Why does the sky turn so red and beautiful at sunset?” Chia asked as we walked home. “Hmmm . . . I think the sky blushes when the sun kisses her good night.”

throng of people milling about the subway, and I was suddenly