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Prerna

In the line for the bonesetter a boy named Raisin offers to push Prerna’s chair, and she, for once, accepts. At the end he cuts in front of her.

“You again,” growls the bonesetter. “I don’t have your daddy’s skull.”

“Then a knuckle,” says Raisin. His voice is rising. “A toe, a tooth, something I can take and–”

The bonesetter nods, and two men with rhinoskin pull Raisin outside.

“Sorry.” The bonesetter leans down to Prerna, smiling. “What are we building you?”

Prerna needs legs. She can hear the men working. There are cries, and tearing sounds.

“Wings,” she says hoarsely.

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