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still lived, golden and glorious, beneath the Hallowed Hill.
    Her twisted fingers clutched the wool. Irritated with herself, Megan squared her shoulders, rallying her strength for the task ahead. “There was a time when people did not age as quickly as they do now, when we lived hundreds of years and traveled to the stars through great crystals almost as tall as these trees.” She pointed to the grove of yew up the slope. “When I was only a girl, I received my own calling, just like you.”
    * * * *
    Something scratched near the back door. Anne raised her head and listened. Maybe it was just a tree branch blowing in the wind. She turned to the next page, but then came another scratch followed by a whining sound. She put down the manuscript and got up to investigate. As she neared the kitchen, she heard a low bark. She switched on the light. On the back porch stood a hound, white head cocked to the side, red ears perked. The pattern continued with red stockings on each leg and a red splotch on the rear.
    Anne opened the door a crack and the dog’s tail wagged tentatively. “Well, hello. Are you lost?”
    The dog scratched the door again and stuck its nose into the crack. Anne blocked its entrance with her body and stepped out of the door. She bent over the hound but found no collar; it was female. She sat and regarded Anne carefully through eerie ice-blue eyes. She looked prepared to speak.
    “Hungry?”
    The dog woofed once.
    “I hope you like eggs.” Anne opened the door. The dog brushed past her, but instead of waiting in the kitchen, she trotted down the hall and disappeared into the office. Anne followed and found the hound curled up on a small rug next to the hearth, completely at home. If this was Cynthia’s pet, where was she? Perhaps with Garth? Maybe he let the dog out and she saw lights in her old house. Thinking her mistress had returned, she came home.
    Anne went to the desk and hit refresh; Michael’s plane would land in about an hour. The dog’s eyes followed her every move. She settled back into her chair and picked up the manuscript. The next page announced the first chapter. The hound lowered her head onto her paws, sighed mightily and closed those haunting eyes.
    * * * *
    “Megan, are you ready?” Pleione called from the terrace below. “Really, child, we must hurry.”
    “You can’t call me that any more after today,” Megan answered. “Besides, I turned thirteen two months ago.” She smoothed the flowing white silk of her dedication robe, pushed her feet into the silver slippers, and started toward the stairs. A sudden pang hit her at the door and she turned to survey her childhood room. The translucent aquamarine curtain surrounding her bed billowed in the breeze, the bright colors from the array of silk pillows flashing out then muting again as the curtain stilled. Scarlet fuchsia outlined the window seat that looked out over the house to the bay. She spent so many nights sitting there watching the stars fill the sky and listening to the roll of the distant surf.
    Eden was all a-bustle. In the spring, when the peach trees bloomed, the newest adults of Atlantis celebrated their own blossoming, leaving behind fundamental education and their nurture pods and presenting themselves to the oracle to confirm their role in society. Megan’s intuition told her she would remain in the capital city, but the oracle could choose her for training far away; she might even transport right after the celebration. Because they were close to full consciousness at this age, most had a presentiment of their future role, but surprises did happen. Her favorite shells and rocks covered a rosewood side table, and clothes lay scattered across the cool tile floor. Suddenly she was sure again; she would stay at home and study in the Healing Temple, taking her place beside her mother as she always imagined. She turned around and clattered down the stairs.
    “There you are.” Pleione held her at arm’s length.