The music floats across the field - a whistle, a violin, the rhythmic thud of boots upon wood - rising and falling with the breeze. He huffs out a sigh of relief because he knows this is where he'll find her. He knows she won't have been able to resist the melody. The moment she heard it she would have been drawn to it like a moth to a flame, drawn to the dance. Dancing comes to River as naturally as breathing comes to him.

And there she is. His mouth falls open as he catches sight of her, drifting, like the music, across the grass toward the stage, its great, white canopy flapping like a sail in the wind.

Then she's gone once more, lost in the milling crowd.

“Get on up here, girl!” comes a shout from the platform.

And there she is again, a flame flickering across the dance floor. She whirls, and leaps, and kicks, and stamps. She is flying, soaring above the ground. She is one with the music. She is the music. She is River.

For a moment he forgets; he forgets the past, the fear, the black, and he smiles. He can't help it. She is his little sister again, eight years old, dressed like a princess at the Friedliek's summer ball.

“Come dance with me, Simon,” she called out, golden skirts lapping around her ankles as she stretched out her arms toward him. “Dance with me!”

“I'd rather watch,” he called back, clapping his hands in time with the music. His face ached from the grin he'd been wearing ever since River had run toward the ball-room. “I'd never keep up with you anyway!”

“Please, Simon,” she said, as she wove her way through the dancers. “Bai too'oh.”

He stopped clapping and reached out to take her hands, pulling her to him. “You know I can't dance, River.” Puberty made him about as graceful as a three-legged dog.

Giggling, she tugged him forward onto the dance floor, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “Fei hua. Of course you can dance. Everyone can dance.”

He shook his head and looked down at her. “Not well enough to dance with you, Mei mei.”

“Please