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... oat, in my thickest jeans... tying tight the laces of my old, worn hiking shoes.
“Remind me again,” uttered again the frowning lips of a face scrunched tight in utter confusion. Why can’t – what’s-her-name – Sarah, wake your phoenix friend up by herself? Why does she need you?”
“Sera, not Sarah, say it with a hard ‘e’,” I corrected, immediately moving on to my right shoe just as I was done with the left, continuing on as I did. “And she needs me because she’s only the channeler. ...
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