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. He stirred, and she pulled her
hand back. Quietly, Matya slipped from the cottage.
"Trevarre has what he wants," she reminded herself,
"and so do I."
The ruddy orb of the sun crested the dim purple
mountains to the east as Matya made her way through the
village. A few folk already were up at this hour, but they
paid her no heed as they went about their business. Once
again, Matya had the feeling there was something peculiar
about this village, but she could not quite fathom what it
was. She hurried on toward her wagon and the restless
Rabbit.
Then it struck her.
"The shadows are all wrong!" she said aloud.
Her own shadow stretched long before her in the low
morning sunlight, but hers was the only shadow that looked
like it was supposed to look. The shadow cast by a two-
story cottage to her left was short and lumpy - much shorter
than she would have expected for a building so high. She
looked all around the village and saw more examples of the
same. Nowhere did the outline of a shadow match that of
the object that cast it. Even more disturbing were the
villagers themselves. None of them cast shadows at all!
Her sense of unease growing, Matya gathered up her
skirts and hurried onto the stone bridge. She suddenly
wanted to be away from this troubling place. She was nearly
across the bridge when something - she was unsure exactly
what - compelled her to cast one last glance over her
shoulder. Abruptly she froze, clapping a hand over her
mouth to stifle a cry.
The village had changed
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