She knows that it would be cheating the game if she created doors in the hedges. That might invalidate the terms.

But she follows the signs, quickly, a whirlwind, as a school of fish fly over their heads. A slow-swimming frog through the air, belly pale as the brightest part of the moon. Crows that leave trails behind them like comets, like smoke.

Oh, if she could just create like this. If she could just own a world and populate it with beautiful things.