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Evie dreamed of rushing water. She was a young child again, her mother bathing her in a chilly stream. She knew it was her mother by the smoothness of her touch, the melody she hummed, but no matter how she squinted or focused she couldn’t bring her face into view. She wanted to see, to remember what her mother looked like, and as the frustration grew she cried out, an infant’s wail.
The scene shifted. She was older again, her true age, and kneeling before her father. The dark lines of his face and his deep voice were stark and familiar.
“What have you done, Eveningstar?”
“Strand creatures…they were fighting…they were huge.”
“You used the strand to escape.” He folded his arms, his voice cold as the stream. Why could she never please him? “You crossed it on purpose.”
“I had to. I’m
