I stood beside Father in the surf and watched the sun slide toward the horizon. He drank deeply from the bottle and then handed it to me. I drank as well. Picard’s brew had no good flavor but it flushed the aches in my limbs and took the edges off the world.
“You have got too much life, Rose,” he said without looking at me.
I drank again.
He said, “You still look and move like a young girl. I doubt that you have aged in the last half century. It has been over a thousand years since one of my children was blessed … or cursed … with such vitality. What are we to do with you?”