The pale light of dawn flittered through the bedroom shutters. In the fractured light the dishevelled pile of clothes on the bedside rug took on a contorted human form. A normally tidy woman, Ann had become practiced in the art of mess. Viewing the clothes strewn about she felt a quiet triumph. Perhaps that was all it took to shed a skin, although after the travails of her time here, she doubted it. She pulled on a pair of thick socks and her walking boots. She smeared sunscreen on her nose and grabbed the wide-brimmed hat she bought at the Teguise market. She was comfortably outfitted in a loose and long-sleeved cotton shirt tucked into khaki shorts.
She watered the plants in the courtyard then went to the kitchen, setting down her hat on the table. Her notebook, with the crumpled pages
