Corey was there, in a vast city square that glowed with its own light.
White structures with domed towers surrounded the plaza on three sides. The fourth side sloped away to the shore of a small mountain lake. The air was sweet and clean. There was a fountain there, blasting water into the air in impossible geometric patterns. The fountain’s water, like that of the lake, was tinted pink. It was surrounded by a rose garden, the roses actually some other flower from some other place and time. The blooms were red and gold and green.
He had been here before, sometimes with some of the other children, sometimes alone. None of them were with him this time, but Corey was not alone.
She was there with him, as she had been a few times before. They were sitting together on a stone bench facing the fountain.
What are you called, [dear-young-one]?
She spoke directly to his mind. There were no words, only pieces of meaning. But Corey understood her perfectly.
“I’m Corey.â€
