"My 'other' office," Steph winked, gesturing to the shelves. She began to talk about the old traditions in the Valleys—the way people had looked to the land for healing long before the mines and the factories arrived. "There's a lot of spirit in these hills," she said, running a finger along a jar of dried mugwort. "People think it's just coal and rain, but there's magic in the water if you know how to listen."

Eira was busy inspecting a large, polished piece of amethyst at her eye level, her shyness completely gone as she chatted to herself. Steph watched her with a look of fierce, protective love.

"She's a forest spirit, this one," Steph said softly to us. "Found her way to me when she was just a few months old. Best thing that ever happened to me, even if she does think she's in charge of the house."

We stayed for hours, lost in the quiet, mystical atmosphere of the shop and Steph's stories. By the time we walked back toward the bus station, the sun was beginning to dip behind the hills, painting the sky in streaks of copper and gold.

When we reached the bus stop, we said our goodbyes. Peter was staying in town with Steph for a bit longer, leaving the two of us to find our way back to Risca.

"See you soon," Steph said, patting Mama's arm.

As we climbed onto the bus and found a seat by the window, I looked out at the darkening valley. My hand found hers, and we sat in a comfortable silence, the weight of the day and the image of a shy little girl lingering in the air.

"I think I know what to write for my assignment," I whispered as the bus pulled away.

"The ducks?" she asked, leaning her head on my shoulder.

"Sure," I said, looking at the glowing lights of the valley.

The morning in Ty Sign started, as it usually did, with a pair of cold, sticky hands patting my cheeks and the insistent whisper of my name. Eira didn't believe in the concept of a "Sunday lie-in." To her, the sun rising over the Machen mountain was a personal invitation to begin the day at full throttle.

I blinked the sleep from my eyes, looking at the small, sturdy figure standing by my bed. At twenty-seven, I sometimes felt like I was a hundred years old, and other times—usually when Eira was laughing at a rogue bubble in the bath—I felt like I was finally understanding what it meant to be young. Being a foster mum in the Valleys wasn't the life I'd planned when I was seventeen, but as I watched Eira tugging at her duvet, I knew it was the life that had saved me.

"Peter?" Eira asked, her eyes bright with the memory of the "Old Man" from the day before. "See Peter today? And the lady with the tummy?"