The waterfalls were flowing skyward. As for the sky, it seemed to be darkening as the sun climbed higher. The trees clinging to the cliffs grew in swirls and explosions of green; whatever tropism was guiding them was inconstant. A great flock of condors was being blown hither and thither by squalls and even the solitary albatross struggled to soar and glide. She was alone for a reason; the condors had eaten her chicks.