She's not afraid of death. She doesn't want to die; she very much enjoys living, and she's glad she's gotten to do some. But she knows that dying just means passing beyond the void to the other side, which is where her mum is, and that dead spirits do occasionally talk to the living, through ketchup packets and weather and the shapes of anthills and so on, depending on the spirit. (She's never heard from her mum, but that doesn't mean she never will.)

Her odds of living aren't very good, of course, not being from an enclave. Back when she was little, her parents were hopeful that they might all get into one, on the strength of her mum's alchemy skill. But then there was the accident, and nobody was interested in taking just her and her daddy.

Her daddy tried very hard to get her into one anyway, wrote letters to lots of enclaves, told them he'd do anything. When she was twelve, one finally wrote back, though he didn't let her see what they'd said. Then one weekend he dropped her off with her mum's parents, who'd never thought much of him but were happy enough to host Luna. When he came back to take her home, his eyes were hollow and he had a limp he couldn't quite hide. He told her he was sorry, he had failed, he hadn't gotten her into an enclave after all. She hugged him and said that it was all right. His gaze turned to her mum, hanging on the wall -- it was the first painting she'd done that gave the impression that it breathed -- and then he said, mostly to himself, that Luna was a very good artificer and she would survive.

The morning, or is it night? perhaps it is both, the morning-night of induction, she stargazes with her daddy, Goose purring in her arms. She is bald and is wearing lightweight clothes in all different colors, a beaded belt currently empty of mana, and little stub radish-shaped earrings which enhance her senses slightly, the last of which she made herself. Her backpack has an assortment of helpful things, such as clothes, craft supplies, letters for older kids, some of her baby teeth for luck, four sticky honeycomb mal-catchers (the maker had been happy to give out some free samples to the editor of the paper where her advertisements sold best), and a good mana crystal that her mum got in Wales a long time ago.

She hugs her daddy and tells him she loves him and to please take very good care of Goose, and then she's being pulled elsewhere, hoping that, at least for her daddy's sake, the next time he hears from her it won't be via anthill.