The journey up the Merle River would take approximately two weeks. Afia spent her time quietly preparing meals, making conversation with her little crow, and gazing enviously at her Gramma’s practices of divination and meditation. But the growing anxiety and fear of her new life, and remorse for the one she’d left behind, had started to overcome her.

Her nights grew restless. Dreams of this hollow, ever-changing substance - if they could be called dreams - grew more and more frequent. They made it hard to go back to sleep, once she’d awoken. They made it hard to go to sleep at all, some nights. Afia had never been one to have a normal sleep schedule, but this made it worse.

Sometimes the only thing she could do to calm herself down was to bask in the warm moonlight, dip her hand in the cold river, and close her eyes as the river current rocked her to sleep again.