IanI know exactly who I am. That’s my problem as I stand in the center of a wide, earthen, circular room somewhere deep underground. An elderly woman rises on her toes to inspect the moon-shaped scars on my wrist. Her touch is gentle but prodding, especially on the older scars. My entire body is thrumming, however, with a new kind of knowledge that threatens to bring me to the floor, and there isn’t a chair or a stool in sight. She looks up into my eyes. “She’s fine. Resting. She stayed out there with you all night.”“No one should have allowed her near me.”“We tried.” She rewraps a loose bandage around the scars. “Do you know where you are?”I don’t bother shaking my head. I’m exhausted. I feel like my bones are worn so thin they’ll break if I so much as take a step. Above all, I feel an earth-shattering kind of guilt that’s woven so tightly between my ribs I find it hard to breathe. “What’s happening to us?” I ask, and the old woman meets my gaze again. “I’m a fox, did you kn
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