If Gwenaëlle is equally unfussed, Morgana’s glance towards the dead rabbits hanging from Astrid’s hip suggests she might not be greeting the prospect with precisely the same equanimity as mother and aunt. On the other hand, her following, swift glances at both of their faces leads to a look of pure resolve: she’s not going to be a baby about it on the day that mama has decided she’s a big enough girl to go up the mountain.

Gwenaëlle manages to keep her amusement mostly to herself, looking ahead to the peak instead of down at Morgana, mischief tugging the corner of her mouth. She feels—

light. In this dream, the only wings that beat are the crows circling in her wake, and Asher is waiting for her below, and she can’t think of a single reason why she would want to be anywhere but with Astrid and Morgana right now.

“Guilfoyle packed it himself,” she adds, of their lunch. The dream assures her that he is as content here as he has ever been anywhere — that he and Astrid’s uncle often sit in companionable silence that looks like friendship, and that Asher finds that deeply and powerfully unsettling in a way that always, always makes her laugh.

It all feels true. The sky is bright and the air is still and this must be all that she loves.