Dakshana woke from frenzied dreams of strange men with moonlight hair and eyes the colour of newly-broken dawn. Magic danced in her fingertips, and she rose from her bed of furs, straw doll clutched close, and slipped out of the den of sleeping children. She followed the tug of magic to the edge of the village where only the shamans and elders dared to venture, and she saw the shimmer of a travelling circle in a patch of dead grass. Inside the circle, she saw the glow of a thousand pair of ancient, hungry eyes.
She coudn't even scream.
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