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birds in the distance where they flew from tree top to
tree top and then soared overhead, eye-balling the fish below. But
the breathtaking scenery could not stop my thoughts from once again
returning to my parents, and I felt a little pang of guilt. Guilt
for enjoying myself.
    Shivering, I stood up intent on walking a little more to warm
myself up. I continued along the same stretch, carefully climbing
over gigantic pieces of driftwood, clueless as to how such immense
logs of wood could find themselves washed up here. Where had they
come from? Had they drifted for hundreds of miles, thousands of
miles? Or had they just come from around the corner? Probably the
sort of question that every Canadian would know the answer
to.
    Canadian. That was me now. Actually, that had always been me.
My father was Canadian, I didn't know about my mother. I was just
born in the UK, wasn't I? Suddenly I had doubts about everything. I
remembered that photo Ben had shown me at the airport. I was just a
baby. I had never seen it before and if I recalled correctly, the
background certainly didn't appear to be London. Could I have been
to Canada before? Could I have been born here? These were questions
that needed answering.
    Yes, I
had an English accent that everybody absolutely loved here (they
couldn't get enough of it, which was difficult for me, being such a
quiet girl) but I was Canadian.
    Another
splash revealed yet another jumping fish to my side as I turned
away from the water and headed towards a dirt track that I presumed
would take me back to the main road to lead me back home. Home.
Weird that it didn't feel wrong to call it that after so little
time.
    I was
just a few metres down the track when a grey cat suddenly appeared
from nowhere. It approached me and began to purr gently at my side.
I bent down to stroke it and it stayed put for just a moment while
it stretched regally before it began walking away from me, towards
the sound of some softly playing music that took me by surprise as
I hadn't noticed any houses nearby. Although the music sounded
foreign, it was beautiful. Slightly eerie.
    I
approached, tiptoeing towards the sounds. Leaning against a huge
tree almost twice the width of me, I carefully peered around it to
get a better view of the property. The cat had left me alone and
had wandered up towards the house.
    Even
though it was the chilliest day since my arrival, on account of the
cloudless sky, I guessed, I saw an older lady standing outdoors
with her back to me. She was painting. What she was painting, I
couldn't quite see. She was humming loudly to the music as the cat
positioned itself at her side.
    Her grey
and white hair was tied up in a bun, revealing an elegant long
neck. She wore a woolly grey poncho that ended in a point just
below her bottom. She was slim and sleek and as she moved, she did
so gracefully.
    “ Come
on over, child. I won't bite or scratch you,” she yelled above the
sound of the music. She didn't turn, instead she continued to sing
and paint as if I wasn't there.
    I came
out of my hiding place and slowly walked towards her, wondering why
she would say that she won't bite or scratch me.
    As I
approached, she finally turned to reveal perhaps one of the most
beautiful faces I have ever seen on a lady of her age. But even
with such beauty, I was startled by her apparent feline appearance.
The way the colours in her hair intertwined with each other
reminded me of the cat that had led me there. Her ears, although
small, appeared to have a slight pointedness to them. And she had
the brightest of light blue eyes. As she looked at me, she smiled a
big hearty smile.
    “ I'm
guessing you're Lilly?” she said with a voice that could melt
chocolate. She must have every man in Powell River after her, I
thought.
    Nodding,
I held out my hand, “How do you know?” I asked.
    “ You
look just like your grandmother when she was young,” she said as
she took my hand, kindly holding it in one and stroking it