‘This was in my boot. When I changed. I think…it must have come from the Others’ Island.’ She held out her hands towards him. Cupped in them, no bigger than a quail’s egg, was a baby. The infant was curled tight in sleep, eyes closed, lashes on his cheeks, tiny round knees drawn up to his chest. Whatever it was carved from mimicked perfectly the fresh pink of young flesh. A tiny serpentine tail wrapped its body. ‘What does it mean?’ Etta demanded, her voice quavering. Kennit touched it with a fingertip, his weathered skin dark against it. ‘I think we both know, don’t we?’ he asked her
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