A local habitation

I would find my mother, and find out what was wrong with her. Why she’d broken; why, when she saw me crossing the grove, she’d chosen to run.

I put my arm around Quentin’s shoulders, keeping my eyes on the sky. Maybe Faerie isdying, and maybe nothing lasts forever, but I’m going to believe Sylvester. Something endures, no matter what happens.

Something lasts.