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There are birds in Emer's dream. Grey birds that circle and swoop in effortless arcs across a milky sky. She studies them without allowing her gaze to flicker; magnetized by their charcoal forms, unwilling to cast her eyes back down to the desperate shore. The gulf begins to vanish. A cramp, a tightening across the sole of her foot pulls her reluctantly back into the warmth of the bed. In those seconds of limbo - the uncertain, fleeting moments between dreams and waking - she clings onto the fragile cord of escape. Not yet. She tries to rise up, back towards that sky, but swiftly those birds dissolve from her sight and she feels again the heaviness of her shoulders on the mattress. An arm, a buttock. Encased in sweat-crinkled, fretful cotton...
Soon, a circle of panic; an electrifying blue light that slices across a pink sky; two strong arms wrapping her in a blanket; and her sister's face. Ashen.
Cait.
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