Zhira dreamt that she was in a bed that was too big for her. That her mother was perched anxiously at her shoulder. She stared at the woman, trying to see who she was. But the features were dim and blurred. Zhira struggled to bring them into focus, but the shapes moved, and the woman’s voice was soft and undefined. There was a flash of green on the cuff of her dress. Who was she? Why would Zhira dream this?
She woke up with damp and sticky cheeks. The Spirits were cruel to let sleep take her somewhere tantalising. To tease her with such an infuriating glimpse. If her dreams were truth, then was her mother alive? The sound of rushing water filtered through her own frantic breathing. The room was dim. It took her a few more moments to realise where she was. Voices drifted through the hallwa
