The face that smiles and offers a greeting is only vaguely familiar. I rub my eyes and shake the befuddlement of sleep from my head. “You’re allowed to sleep in,” one of the girls whose room I’m sharing tells me. “We’re on first breakfast and early field-shift, but you’re a guest.” “I’ll come with you,” I say, pushing myself up against my pillow. “I don’t mind helping.” The girl shakes her head. “Truso will want to give you the official tour first. He puffs up like a rooster when he has visitors to show around.” The second girl slaps her arm, but not hard. “He’s proud of Home Farm and he should be.” With smiles they’re both gone and Sophie slides back into my head – the Sophie of two years ago. I wonder whether she still looks the same; whether she’d know me if I stood before her now. With a snort, I throw back the covers and slap my feet onto the cold floor.
