Gabriel led his misfit circus through Thieves forest on one of the darkest February nights. It was so dark that Gabriel had to gently call the names of his horses to keep them safe from the shadows that pretended to move.

Banter, Goblin, Belinda and Grace… were some of the names he said.



Even though the carriages bounced from side to side the lion tamer practiced her tricks and roars, whistles and whips in her mind. She worried about their most important performance in the Big City.



When the Circus stopped to rest Cecelia slipped out and walked through a cool river and star storm.



And what makes a good Misfit? Sometimes it’s something small, like the way the fingers of Centrone the hypnotist always move as he counts and re-counts the marbles in his dressing room, or the way he can hypnotize and control an entire audience.




There is also the Bird Woman who used to put files away in an office with such speed her head would twitch from side to side. But now she floats above the circus floor and sings.



Condor remembered one time he wanted to succeed so badly that he told his assistant Mr. Mudd to use twice as much gun powder as usual. And Condor flew high, higher than ever before, right through the Circus tent and into the sky, and landed in Lake Noon just outside of town. Mr. Mudd had to fish him out.



But this time would be different. All the Misfits thought so, and they imagined the ringmaster dazzling the audience, and the rewards and prizes that would fall from the crowd.



Even the tumble guard’s pet turtle Zoro imagined success high above the circus floor.




As they came closer to the end of Thieves Forest the Queen Gypsy Fortune Teller Jane looked out the back of her carriage and searched for a sign. Would the circus find success in the City of Misula, or failure? Would there be riches and applause or a quiet exit?



And in a clearing in the woods she saw a crow. So Jane laughed. “Misfits know too much of success” she said to herself.

Crow jacket

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