“A perfect fit,” she murmured. “I think this must be your family crest.”
Thorne examined the image on the thing Eden had called a ring. “Crest?” It seemed as though a sun was rising over the trees, the small lines curved simply, yet he knew it was a sunrise, or sunset. He curled his hand back into a fist, feeling the ring around his finger. An unexpected surge of pride filled him. He closed his eyes. A dim memory of lying in his father’s arms, half-asleep, touching this ring with tiny fingers.
When he opened his eyes, he looked toward his mother and saw a shiny leaf hanging by a shining thread around her neck. He reached for it. It was like the gift he’d given Eden, the one she now wore around her neck.
“Here, let me.” Eden did something to make the shiny thread break apart so it could
