The girl sat next to him, slipped her tiny feet between the velvety blades, wiped a tinge of sable from her cheek.

Kip extended a hand, touched her knee. Felt it touch him back.

"You're real."

She smiled. "Yes. All of this is real."

A surge of joy splashed over his senses. Something about this place, this child, this glade, these clouds; something about it sang hope. He heard the trees whisper, whisper, Live, for all is lost, all is lost;

all is lost
all is found
all is forgotten

all is lost
all is found
all is given away

it's not the end
it's just one tongue

for all is lost, all is lost, whisper, whisper.

For the first time in his life, Kip felt no shame; and in that perfect absence of shame, he felt the dying son of that hope;

the girl must have sensed it, smiled at the sensing of it; smiled with no darkness in her eyes, in her hair, in her limbs.

"My name is Kezia."

Live, for all is lost, all is lost.

"Kezia," murmuring, whisper, whisper.