And still his mother walked the estate every day, granting recognition to even the place where Elsie had died, no matter how much it hurt. Moving herself above the earth in patient patterns. Carving channels through repetition, just as Edwin believed that the point of ley lines was for magic to flow and renew itself. Magic. Bonds. Intuition. For a moment Jack had the uneasy impression of a large idea that he might be able to touch, to make solid and understandable, if only he could reach in the right direction.
