LENA
She was sitting on a flat rock beside a stream.
Not restrained. Not locked away. Sitting on a rock with her arms around her knees and her dark hair loose and her expression that of someone who has been brought somewhere unexpected and is still working out how to feel about it.
She looked up when I came through the trees.
And went completely still.
I went completely still too.
Not because she looked like me, though she did, in the specific way of family resemblance that shows up in the jaw and the stillness and the quality of attention. Not because of the amber eyes that were our mother's eyes and our uncle's eyes and mine.
Because the power was radiating off her like heat from a surface that has been in sunlight for too long without knowing it.
Untrained. Unguided. Completely
