Naming was not to be taken lightly. Flora and Hazel and their mum, Camellia—they’d all been named after plants. Lea and Mersey, their middle names, born of their parents’ childhood rivers. “Don’t forget,” Papa had told his daughters, “you are of earth and water. Both of you. Also of love. Our love.” And then he’d pulled Mum to him so tightly that she’d blushed and swatted him away. The name of their new land came to Hazel right as prayer, a name that already existed, that had waited for them, a name of secrets, of the earth and its rivers, just like the two sisters. “It’s called Whisperwood
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