Every night since Hadrian's ill-fated house party, I have been having the same terrible nightmare.
The dream always begins in darkness. I am lying beneath a thick green blanket of winter moss, a small golden crucifix held tightly in my outstretched hand. I hold it so tightly, squeezing with all my might, that my fist goes white, and a trickle of ruby red blood soaks into the moss around me. I hold the crucifix to my lips, kissing the cold metal and murmuring a prayer, tasting salt and iron. I hear distant music - far away trumpets on the horizon to the East - and I stir restlessly in my soft green arboreal bed.
I must remain asleep. I have no choice but to stay here until Gabby and Michael return from their wanderings, wherever they have gone. I have to be patient. I must wait a little l
