Where You Breathe, page 4 of 12

Under the surface Pip rides on Dawn's back with one arm lifted towards the broken pieces of light coming down, his antennae up in wonder.

The sea took them the way a door takes a guest.

Light came down around him in pieces, the pieces he had only ever seen from above.

He reached for the number of them, out of habit, and there was no number.

Not withheld, not forgotten: her world did not have numbers, the way it did not have dry.