The left side of James' face seizes as pain radiates along the back of his skull. His fingers pulse as fine green and gold particles hover around his hands. Kneeling, he places both palms squarely on the ground and sweeps the magic over the soil. The ground writhes under his touch, but it does not splinter. Hopes' magic rises from the earth and collects around her father as he scatters it properly, strengthening the bedrock.

  Hope wipes the muck from her face as the tiny creatures creep up her legs. Her eyes remain fixated on her father. The hole beneath the flower shrinks. Covering her mouth, Hope screams into her sleeve. She thinks about how no one ever matches her mother's skill with fire. The strength of her father bounding past her own. When their neighbors run low on food, he is there for them. No matter how many times she tries, she cannot pull fresh fruits and vegetables from withered trees and shriveled bushes as he can. Tears stream down her face. Without a glance, she runs her hands over her knees. Her hands find the ends of her hair. She toils with the ends, finally blinking, as she watches the earth sparkle under her father's touch. It is as if he is celestial rather than human, like her. It is as if a single touch from him could change winter to spring. Her eyebrows knit together as she thinks about the Order. She knows she is not strong enough to face them. When they come for her, her parents might die protecting her and her brother.

  Hopes' eyes slide over to the lavender; the stalk of the flower is thinner than before. It seems to slide away from her. It must be my imagination, she thinks. Before turning away, she pauses, angling her ear towards the flower. A small whimper seems to escape from the plant. Hopes' entire body is motionless as she listens to the flowers' pleading, wishing it could pick itself up and flee from her. Panic creeps over her skin as she notices a dozen small creatures crawling over her hand. Just as she becomes aware of their presence, dozens of sharp jaws dig into her skin, responding to their queen's cry. Scrambling, she begins to crawl backward, backing into the oak tree.

  "Aaaaag," rips from Hope’s throat as she falls over, squirming and writhing as more ants crawl over her body. As more clamp their jaws shut on her skin, they lock their jaws, frames distending. Twisting, she slaps and shakes her body. A few of them drop to the ground as Terra reaches her. Only a moment passes before the tiny creatures' internal temperature rises high enough that they burst into flames, and their abdomens drop from Hope’s skin. Terra drops her hands, releasing her hold, as she sinks to her knees, gathering Hope into her arms. Rushing forward, she sprints towards the creek. The snow and the underbrush hiding underneath it hampers her footfalls. Kicking off her shoes, the bottoms of her feet cut into the snow and the ground beneath them. The heads of the ants remain lodged in Hopes' skin. Hope continues to writhe as the creature's jaws remain locked on almost every inch of her body.

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  "Hang on, baby," Terra says between ragged breaths. "We are almost there," she promises. A gasp escapes Terras' throat as she reaches the creek's edge. Stepping forward, she lowers Hope into the water. A shaking breath escapes Terras' throat. Hope jerks and tries to climb up Terras' frame to escape the freezing pool, almost toppling them both.

  Terra tries to keep her footing steady as she pushes Hope further into the center of the creek. Roots break through the surface beneath the water and wrap around Terra's ankles, steadying her frame.

  The depth of the ice-cold water is just enough to cover Hopes' entire body. Steam fills the air as the water glides over their skin, evaporating and shrinking the pool. Both of their body temperatures are higher than the average person’s. Hope begins to squirm uncontrollably. The ends of her curly hair catch fire. Terra watches as Hope’s eyes flare open; panic riddles her expression. Hopes' irises are no longer green like her father's. The jaws of the creatures fall from her skin into the water. Hope is no longer cold; heat drums throughout her body.

  "Oh, I hate ants," Hope whispers as Terra carries her across the yard. Terra is several inches taller than Hope. Her tight curls do not frame her face; they have a proclivity to race upwards towards the sun, unlike her daughter’s.

  "What do you think you were doing?" Terra asks.

  "Ants are chasing me, Mom," Hope retorts. A line of six-legged creatures trail not too far behind them.

  "Hope, I ..." Terra stops short. Disappointment is plastered across her features.

  "How did you know?" Hope inquires. Her voice is barely above a whisper.

  "The temperature in the house started to rise and your dad could hear the roots snapping," Terra says. Her tone is flat; she does not look at Hope, who remains silent. "I expect you to make amends with that colony before dinner. I hate ants being in the house," Terra says as she climbs the steps of their porch. Rowan stands still as they walk in, holding the door. His favorite puzzle piece is in his hand.