The ball of light swells toward the far horizon, becomes almost perfectly round, and vanishes; a second, smaller ball follows it, more slowly. The white sparks glimmer behind them. Edgar's eye fixes on two especially bright ones, so close together they look like they might touch, one pure white and one very faintly blue.

Somewhere just out of range of his hearing is a chorus of crystal-chiming voices, singing without words, high and sweet and cold as water.

Water.

Gradually he becomes aware that he's terribly thirsty, and he starts to struggle to sit up.