When one of us is found and killed, a circular scar wraps around the right ankle of those still alive. If we come together, then the charm is broken. That is how we protect ourselves because of the charm that was placed upon us when we left, a charm guaranteeing that we can only be killed in the order of our numbers, so long as we stay apart. None of them know where I am, and I don’t know where they are, or what they look like now. The nine of us had to scatter, and go our own ways. We were to assimilate ourselves into the culture before returning to Lorien when it could again sustain life. I remember the way his glasses gathered the light from the sky. My grandfather stood just over her shoulder. What I remember most vividly is the way my grandmother looked that day. I am always told the weather: it was warm. It was warm, a soft wind blew in from off the water. It was a time of celebration, and the explosions were at first mistaken for fireworks. We were in that two-week period of the year when both moons hang on opposite sides of the horizon. I am told the ground shook, that the skies were full of light and explosions. We left when we were young, almost too young to remember.
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