Joanna runs through the echoing darkness of the castle’s corridors, her eyes bright with fatigue. Her usually energetic limbs feel heavy as she darts through the vast halls, her eyes searching the hollow, haunted faces around her. She shouldn’t be using energy up like this, she’ll be hungry for the non-existent food later, but she’s scared, and she’s lost her child.

That’s right. Despite her youth, and her healthy, glowing, lightly freckled limbs, she’s a mother. A mother after the fashion of wild animals – tender but approving heartily of freedom. When the flood struck she’d been on her way to visit Jensen, leaving the sleeping Prophet for a little while. He’d gone to sleep so well, and it wasn’t far.

And when she’d returned, and found the cot empty, and the wave coming, and eventually, after adventures she hoped never to repeat, she’d ended up here, among the echoing unnatural stones. She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear the cold thick walls closing around her, she wanted to be on the roofs, or outside, just not in here with the musty air. But she had to find Prophet, and whoever had taken him. He had to be here.

She turns another wide angled corner and finds herself facing a well lit room full of people, looking serious, all talking at once. A woman on the edge of the small group turns to her, and Joey almost doesn’t catch the words, is she looking for someone, does she have any leather clothes. Joey stares at her, eyes wide, and shakes her head.

‘My son, Prophet...’

The woman looks at her with surprise, and confers with the man next to her, who shakes his head. Joey’s already half way down the next corridor when the woman turns back with a sad, lonely expression, but stops as the woman calls out that she’d seen a man call his small child that, he had dark brown hair, black clothes, a scar on his shoulder...

Joey nods, hesitantly. She’s talking about Blake. Of course, Blake, as she’d hoped. A small smile alights on her full pink lips and she lifts her chin and thanks the woman.

She sidles out of the pool of candlelight and back into the corridor, the grey stones once against pressing in around her. She’s dizzy with relief, no longer hurrying, now just keeping going, her paces long and laboured. She runs a hand through her short dark hair, sweeping it out of her eyes, and tries to look for a familiar face.