I don’t have the bad dreams I expect, no matter how many times I think something will trigger me and bring me back to my time at the bottom of that thirsty crater. Ty and I sleep too wound up and tangled around each other for that.
Some moons later, I dream that a raven that is not anything so simple as a bird lands in the house Savi left behind.
It should not be able to land. It should not have been able to find the house at all.
Yet it cocks its head to one side as it peers around into all sorts of places it shouldn’t be able to locate—much less perceive.
When it leaves, it flies straight up, like a bullet.
Then disappears.
It disconcerts me well into the next day.
Moons upon moons later still, I have another dream.
Down beneath the frigid cold water of a still-full and serenely blue Crater Lake, buried beneath a stone that was once used as an altar, the charred, mangled fragments of something that was once a heart ... twitch.
But I’m no oracle. My dreams are barely nightmares, and no one needs more than their share.
I keep them to myself.
