Macie knew all about being followed—for Macie had followed this line of thinking her whole life. The thinking of must. At five years old, must was making a name for herself among a family of five siblings—each extraordinarily loud and loquacious. She must find a way, she told herself—and so she told them: "must you be so loud?" She told them: "you mustn't miss the world." Yes, she made the loud listen—not by being louder herself, but through silence. "Listen—do you hear it?" She made them hear it: the sound of the world that by talking they missed. At ten years old, must was finding her way out of the power blackouts—and leading the way not with a flashlight, but the flash of a smile. Yes, so many people were afraid of the dark that her fearless smile brightened every turn she made, so that no path was unknown. This attracted a crowd—so that by fifteen years old, must was projecting her voice loud enough for all to hear, even when they were hard of hearing. Now, twice as far from fifteen as fifteen was from five, she stands—with the wisdom to be just what the situation required her to be: in command.