The women at the entrances to the tents glance over at them balefully.What are they going to do with me? he says.Oh, these people are bloody mental.They hunt men at night, Roxy says.Send girls off into the forest to scare ’em.Or one of those moons.The magic is in the belief in magic.All this is, is people with an insane idea.The only horror in it is imagining oneself into their minds.And that their insanity might have some consequences on the body.It is bound fast by several twine cords.It would not be hard for Roxy to cut them if she had a knife.But the people around the encampment would see.She pulls a flask out of her back pocket and takes a little swig.They know me, she says, but I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me.So you’ve been hiding in the woods for weeks, not bothering them?Yeah, she says.A fragment of something he read a long time ago floats through his mind.A flattering looking glass.He has to be a flattering mirror for her, reflecting her at twice her ordinary size, making her seem to herself to be strong enough to do this thing he needs her to do.Without that power, mutters a voice in his head, probably the earth would still be swamp and jungle.That’s not you, he says.That’s not who you are.I’m not who I was, my friend.You can’t stop being who you are.You’re Roxy Monke.
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