TWO SEAGULLS FOUGHT OVER A CLAM IN THE SURF, dropping the trophy in the process, climbing into the sky with angry squawks.

Heading back to his cottage, Quinn followed his outgoing footsteps, now deforming in the wet sand, becoming larger, more misshapen. Above him, a few cirrus clouds rode the blue, like the remnants of a larger blanket. The sky needed a blanket of clouds. It was vastly empty and deep, and it seemed miraculous that its airy substance held in place or did any worldly good.

Except for a steady wind off the ocean, the day was warm, and Quinn carried his shoes, walking barefoot, pleased that he'd kept all ten toes. And this time, kept his memories.

His thoughts kept returning to the tunnel in the adobe wall, the one it must surely have taken him years to carve, to direct the material to conform. He had wondered how he'd spent his time, how he'd conformed to Tarig society—what there was of it—and hated the picture he'd conjured, of indolence and comfort. And since he couldn't remember much of that sort of life, he'd been left imagining ugly scenes of extravagance and dissolution.

But, in reality, he'd been working in his room.

Chiron had been curious. What do you do in there, all by yourself?

Read, walk in my garden.

Come to us.

Tomorrow, perhaps. He remembered an expression crossing her face: disappointment, a flash of anger. Sometimes he was able to keep her at bay.

Now, far from the bright city—it wasn't even possible to think how far—he sat on a log tossed up by the latest storm. The beach, with its relentless surf and strong horizon, was the best place in the Rose.

In the distance, a figure was approaching, following the strand of the retreating tide. Caitlin waved.

He waited for her, glad to see her, grateful at how few questions she'd had for him about his journey. One of them had been, “What did you do with that door knocker?”

“Buried it,” he'd answered. The face had been Hadenth's, although he couldn't have known it then.

When Caitlin arrived, he saw that she had a string bag full of beach glass and shells.

“Find stuff?” he asked.

“The tide always leaves something.” She retied her bandana to keep the hair from whipping in her face. “Feel like soup?”

“Yeah, most of the time,” he said.

She smiled. “I mean, homemade soup and bakery bread.”

He stood up, grabbing his shoes. “Sure. Long as I can dunk the bread.”

“Dunking and slurping flatter the cook.”

She led the way. “The kids spent all morning running those trains, Titus. I'm scared to death they'll break something.”

“Don't be. If it breaks, I'll fix it.”

Caitlin lengthened her stride to keep pace with him, but then found that he had stopped. He was looking out at the ocean.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He didn't answer, but continued looking outward. Caitlin figured he wasn't seeing a thing. She stood by his side a few moments watching the waves bulk up near the shore.

“Titus, are you sure you want two brats to take care of for a whole week?” She and Rob were leaving the next day for a long-overdue vacation to fish in the Gulf of Mexico.

“Yes. I'll take them in the kayak without life jackets, and teach them how to make homemade bombs.” He turned a heart-stopping smile on her. The smile hadn't changed, although the whole family was still adjusting to the altered features. But she liked the new Titus. Less glib, more relaxed. If he got any better, she'd have to join a nunnery.

They resumed walking, this time in silence, until they spied the cottage. Rob waved from the porch.

Caitlin waved back. To forestall anyone joining them prematurely, she planted her feet in the cool sand and looked up at him. “How old would she be, Titus?” She knew that Sydney was always on his mind.

“How old? Nearly twenty, I think…. She'll be grown. When I bring her home.” He looked out toward the horizon, thrashing in the distance. “I'm afraid she'll look exactly like a young Johanna.”

Caitlin sighed. “That would be wonderful. And hard.”

“About sums things up.” His expression suddenly changed, and Caitlin followed his gaze to the nearest dune, where Mateo had appeared.

“Uncle Titus!” Mateo waved, summoning his uncle to see his latest beach find.

Titus turned to her. “Can lunch wait?”

Getting her nod, he headed off to the dune where Mateo waited. “We'll be just a second,” he said.

“Take your time, Titus,” Caitlin called after him.