YA fantasy about those who wander, those who are lost, and finding the way home

There was an old saying in the village that you don’t know what kind of person someone is until the worst misfortune that could befall them has happened. Travelers were often startled by the villagers’ unusual and ominous blessing for births, weddings, and those about to depart on a long journey: May you never know yourself; may we all be so lucky.

Before the warrior’s baby was stolen by a witch who had lost her own, she had never wielded a weapon against another human being, let alone gone on a quest worthy of any legend. That was not to say her life had been easy, because it hadn’t. While her life had not been long, it had been generally difficult, occasionally painful, and almost always lonely. She was alone when she had given birth, until the moment she wasn’t, of course.

When she learned that the witch had spirited her only remaining family out of the village and past the Land of Five Seasons, she had felt a pain deep in her chest as if her heart would burst, like a sporing puffball. But though she had only been able to use it on a handful of occasions, she had a capacity for love that was as powerful as thunder but not at all fleeting. And so it was that a wide-eyed young woman from a nowhere village armed herself with what weapons she had and set out on a journey on a raft made of the bones of small animals. It was the first time she had left the village in her life.