Book Three: Grump

  Has it been so long?
  I remember when I turned eight, remember pictures in the air and flowers on a tree. Remember Buck and Jasmine and a bunch of satyrs stoned to the gills and singing "Happy Birthday" like a mantra to a lost god. Birthdays make me sentimental. Especially when they're April's.
  My daughter turns eight today, on the same day I was Sained in 1969. I don't like to think of how long that's been. It makes my head hurt and my eyes blur, and it wouldn't do to have April see her mother cry on their mutual birthday. So I'll put on my brave face and carry out the cake, and tonight, when Ryk and Amber bring the van by, I'll pretend not to hear them take my daughter to the woods to keep the Dream in motion. She's like her mother, April is. We're lucky. Not many are.
  When they're gone, I'll have my own cake and my own friends, and if I cry a little when we sing the song, well, it's all a part of living. There's life in this old goat yet, y'know, and I'm not too tired yet to think of flowers, even when the wind blows cold.
  Yeah. I still like birthdays. They're a sign that we're still alive.