Swweets kept an old photograph in his room. It was framed in driftwood that he and Corin and Selfen found ages ago. His mother and father, and even he and his siblings smiled out from within it, as the fish tank behind them emitted a soft, blue glow.
He would have loved to bring that tank with him, to watch the fish weave in and out of the leaves, chase each other, rest on the rocks. Fish knew how to play and how to relax in ways that humans didn’t—or couldn’t. Swweets often found that idea floating through his head.