She had a friend out there, somewhere. A friend who spoke to her in the same non-voice of her own thoughts. She hadn’t questioned this. She hadn’t complained when the voice told her how to cause so much destruction. She had wanted so much to be free.

Now, there was dirt under her fingernails, scratches and bruises and soot all over her body. The dancing light of the fire behind her spoke of fear and the darkness before her breathed uncertainty. She picked her way forward under manicured trees, torn between wanting to find her own way and the way of the voice.

“Timothy, there will be a door. I want you to open it.”

And there was. A silvery, glowing arch appeared in front of her. Inside the arch, the sky was the pale grey-pink of a breaking dawn.