It may have been a woodland fantasy tale, but even Mythago Wood had more rationale about it than the matter darting through my mind. It was Chloe I was picturing in the labyrinth of trees in Ryhope, and it was myself I pictured running there too. It captured me. She captured me. The girl on the train was a splash of brightness in my wilderness. A zany flash of colour in the grey. It made no sense. I didn’t want it to.
