Chapter 99

IT ISN'T chill and frosted over this time. It's warm; the sun is shining bright on the water, glaring into his eyes. The grass is cool against his bare feet, green and soft with just a touch of dew from the mist of the river. The trees are full and flowering, fragrant apple blossom and heady dogwood, soughing whispers shivering through branch and leaf on the soft breeze. The chuckle of water over stone sings with the voices of the stars, though the sun eclipses their faces.

A wide, gold-limned figure bides on the strand, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into trouser pockets, hair like chaff wafting and glinting red-gold-flax with every slight shift of the gentle wind. Those dark eyes are shut tight, brow twisted in concentration, jaw set hard.