among the anskáya, with all that she had managed to adapt, and she still did not think she would ever come to understand the music. A wave of homesickness engulfed her. Those had become frustratingly common lately, ever since waking up from that first vivid, unmistakable dream. The dream that had brought an end to her increasingly desperate efforts to deny what was becoming more and more undeniable, that had forced her to admit that she had unexpectedly — inconceivably — become one of the ilmai. Ever since then, she had known that her time was limited; all she wanted now was to make enough of an impact so that, should she not take the option to return, she would not be utterly forgotten. Abby sighed and put down her brush, and took a few deep, stabilizing breaths. Obviously, her heart wasn’t really in her work today; probably better to give it up for now and start back again when her mind was clear. As she packed up her materials, she watched the boaters and dock workers scurry around her. None of them seemed uncertain, none of them seemed torn; they seemed to know what to expect out of their lives and they did what they needed to do. She knew she was oversimplifying things, that the older man tying off ropes might have a sick wife at home, or the waitress collecting tips at the little café to her left might be facing eviction. But she did know, without doubt, that she was the only
Made with FlippingBook - Online magazine maker