There was a kitten in the road, no, three kittens. And Garnia had to get back to the farm before the sun set, or she’d be in trouble. But there was a wagon rolling down the road, clip-clop and the clouds had been really pretty today but the kittens rarely saw wagons and the thing was clippity-clopping awfully fast and focus, Garnia!
It didn’t work for long, it never worked for long; her mind was like a field of butterflies and there was still a tiny pile of kittens in the road and the wagon clippity-clopping ever closer and kittens she had to get them even if she wasn’t really allowed in the road and…
The wagon-driver slave-raider was never sure quite what happened. One moment he was reaching for the girl, maybe twelve, thirteen years old and the next moment there was a field of butterflies wooshing out of his hand, pushing three tiny kittens ahead of them in an impossible maelstrom.
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No-one’s ever going to believe him, are they?
Probably not!
Seriously. I wonder if she noticed him trying to grab her.
She might not have – she was concentrating on the kittens.