ScarlettI gripped the hoe with both hands, clumsily jabbing it into the dry earth. The wooden handle bit into my palms. I knew it was going to bruise when I was done. The unfamiliar motion made me jerky and graceless. I dug, dragged, turned, and stumbled. Over and over again.The morning sun made it seem like the night cold had been nothing but an illusion. It burned hotter than I expected, baking my skin and soaking the thin tunic with sweat in minutes. My arms ached. My back screamed. My palms were already tender, and I could feel the blisters forming. The soil was stubborn, hard-packed and resisted the hoe.The sounds of the field filled the air, metal clinking, feet shuffling, grunts of effort, but no one spoke to each other.I was halfway through a row when I felt someone staring at me intently.I paused, chest heaving, my breath loud in my ears. Slowly, I straightened and glanced around. That’s when I saw her.She stood a few rows away, motionless. A girl about my age. Tall, wit
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