
With each day she learned more about what she could do. She felt a foreign and keen sensitivity bubbling in her blood, as though a seed planted long ago was just now sprouting. The larger the animal, the more powerfully it could shake her. The recently dead were virtual mines of visions, casting them off with a slow-fading strength like a long series of tethers being cut, one by one. She pulled off her mittens and touched everything she could: bats, salamanders, a cardinal chick tumbled from its nest, still warm. Each time she touched some frozen insect, some slumbering ambhibian, anything just dead, her eyes rolled back and its visions, its heaven, went shivering through her body..."
from The Hunter's Wife by Anthony Doerr
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