"Flying fish. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. It was difficult to get right. She would have to leave very soon. Brendon,” Anna said. Perhaps the sunken cheeks and the protruding cheekbones gave her this impression. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. His figure was uncommonly slim even for his age, which could not be more than thirteen; and the looseness of his garb made him appear thinner than he was in reality. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine.
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