“How did you get here?” Yarrod asked, squinting over the top of the tower.

Rosemary shrugged, shivering a little as the evening wind blew through her nightgown. “There was a box.”

“What was in it?”

“Sand. Just…grey sand.”

“And?” If he stared hard enough, he could convince himself that he saw the river.

“I ran it through my fingers. It was …soft. And smooth. It got stuck all under my nails.”

“So.” If he squinted really hard, he could convince himself that he could see a waterfall, with two tiny little stick-skeletons lying at the bottom.

“That night, after I went to sleep, I dreamt I was here.”

However hard he looked, he could never see the key. The key that he knew was there. The key to the castle. The key in the breast-pocket of the tiny skeleton-body in the waterfall.

“So…Are you saying I am just a dream?”

“You’re my dream.” It was cold on top of the tower. She’d never known before that you could feel cold in a dream.

“So what do I do each time you wake up?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “What do dreams do?”