“Ariana is strong and true as a good oak tree.” Haida set her wooden spoon to rest on a small table and turned to look at me. “No,” she said, heavily. “No, she is not. Once, she was lovely and sweet and, it hurts me to confess, spoiled. Beloved daughter. But immortality is more curse than blessing. All things pass away. Love may live for a month or a year, but sooner or later, it leaves.” I stopped working with the mortar. “No,” I told her, because my heart knew better. “That is not true.” “Have you lived so long as I?” she asked. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I have lived long enough to know
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