Any Way the Wind Blows (Simon Snow, #3)

by Rainbow Rowell

“It’s alive!” I shout. “Niamh! Look!” “You’re doing so well,” she says, handing me another clean towel. The kid kicks its way out of the membrane, while I scrub at it. The doe cranes her head back, too exhausted to reach it. I bring the baby over to her face, and she licks away the gunk. “There you are, mother,” I say. “Good work, darling.” I’m crying. I’m laughing. Niamh lays her hand on my back. “You saved them both, Agatha.” “I didn’t—” I turn to Niamh. For once, she doesn’t look angry. Niamh is looking at me the way lots of people do sometimes, but she never has. Like I’m . . . well, like I’m . . . “You’re amazing,” she says. I’ve turned right into her arm. Her hand stays on my back. Niamh’s eyes are royal blue. Her eyelashes are short and dark. Her colour is high. Here, in the clearing, under the solid gold sun. “Agatha,” she says. My hands are covered in goo and jelly. I lift up my chin, so it’s there, if she wants it . . . She does. She kisses me. Niamh. Her long nose in my cheek. Her chin as sharp as it looks. Her lips the softest part of her, surely. Niamh. I would like . . . Niamh. More of this . . . Niamh. Please. Niamh kisses me. “Agatha,” she says, “you saved Watford.”