Jace
She had been in my dreams.
I had turned that over for most of the night and I was still turning it over in the grey morning light while I saddled the horses and the camp came slowly to life around me. She had been in my dreams the way she had been in Vance’s — not invited, not controlled, just there, moving through the landscape of my head like she had every right to it.
I doubted that Vance’s dreams were as depressing as my bleak, serial nightmares.
She had seen the dead trees. The pack house with its dark windows. She had followed me through seven years of loss rendered in dead wood and colorless sky. She had cried. I had seen the tears, still wet on her cheeks when she came back to herself. I had seen them in the dark and I had said almost nothing. It had been so long since any
