I was the only one who could hear the birds at the frequency the emitter used. I had feared this initially, but now it occurred to me that I’d never seen the fog at Rosewater, either. The terrible dreams followed me from place to place, voices and visions and the rising wind of an angry storm out at sea, but at Rosewater the fog had cleared. Until I listened to the sleep song. Ten people had heard the song, Bryce Lermond had told me, and nine were dead. Then there was Nick Bishop.
