Lauren Groff

In June, a miracle; Amphelisa, whose half body had frozen after she stepped over copulating snakes, awakens having regained the use of her frozen face and hand, and only limps with a single unwilling leg now. She credits the intercession of Saint Lucy, of whom in desperation she'd moulded a wax votive with her good hand and let it melt on a hot stone while praying. Now full of energy, she has taken the garden out of frantic Prioress Tilde's domain, and the vegetables grow fat; the lovage and fennel and skirret under her care grow madly; the colewarts are the size of three-month babies. Because she sings to them, the bees of the apiary sting her only infrequently when she smokes them to check on their honey. Wevua and Duvelina are her assistants, hauling brush to fire and weaving wattle, because if their bodies are tired enough, their minds, one simple, one sliding, are at peace.