The ceremony had ended, the echoes of drums and chants fading into the twilight.
Outside the cave, the surroundings smelled of smoke and earth, of candles burnt low and prayers whispered into the cooling air.
I watched, strangely satiated by the whole celebration, as people moved in groups toward their homes, each carrying plastic bags of gifts—courtesy of the King.
Then I noticed my first foster mother watching me. She was waiting for her husband—I believed, but while waiting, she was watching me.
Diana squeezed my hand. Of course she had noticed. We waved at the same time, small smiles on our lips.
She was startled at our recognizing her presence—she even looked behind her, to know if she was the one we're actually greeting—but she waved at us in return, a contemplative smile on her lips.
"Do you want to go to her?" A whisper veiled in magic.
"I think so."
