Her body has grown into her consciousness, and yet in so many ways she is still the girl who shivered in shock and cried for her mother that frozen night he resurrected her. Tonight she shines softly against the trees, pale as the Washer at the Ford bathing in the silvery streams of moonlight. Framed by strands of platinum that glow like frosted steel, her eyes whisper to him of too much knowledge and pain unforgotten. Did she catch another glimpse of the other side when she fell? �I�ll be all right,� she says, wrapping her arms around herself. �Just remember when I am haunted that I was just so scared�

Copyrighted � 2003 Silver Thistle Publishing.