Every now and then, the murmur of voices brushed the edge of her hearing, but they were mere echoes, small stars in the milky backdrop of her mind. Peace flowed through her. For the first time in weeks, she felt completely safe. Then the darkness lightened to a shade of gray and finally to a soft white. She began to lose that fragile peace, fraying at the seams like delicate lace. Her mind stirred, rippling. Disgruntled, Sora finally accepted that she was waking up. With a small groan, she welcomed back her senses with reluctant arms. She opened her eyes and looked above her. At first she thought she was still dreaming. A white, flat surface drifted overhead, too low and flat to be clouds. A ceiling. Her heart jolted, remembering the Catlins, her frantic race through the swamp. Had she finally been captured? Where were her companions? She listened, half expecting a vicious beast to tower above her bed. She tried to sit up, but it was impossible. Her body felt as weak and limp as a rag doll.
