Jack flew through the forest. It was beautiful. The summer nights were beautiful. It wasn't winter, but it was nice. The green lights danced in the sky, and Jack leaned on his staff. There he saw a small sand branch over his head. Last time that he had seen the golden sand-man once before—that was when he'd followed one of the long golden tendrils home, to a small yellow man who was man of sand and couldn't talk. Sandman. At least that's what Jack had decided to call him. He didn't know there were people out here. Jack jumped from tree to tree following the sand trail to a castle. He watched as a woman in night-clothes screamed. A man held the woman's hand as another woman covered the legs of the woman. It took a second but quickly Jack realized that the woman was giving birth. He looked away and saw the yellow tendril slipping into one of the upstairs windows. Jack flew up to see where it was going. A small servant was sleeping in a bed. No one special. Jack slipped back down to the window edge where the screams echoed from. A tuft of pollen floated by and the woman held up a baby, a girl wrapped in a blue cloth—though he was covered in red stuff, it must have been blood. The woman brought her over to the window for a wash and Jack sneezed, right on the baby girl. The girl's eyes opened and she sneezed as well. The mother and father 'ohh'ed and 'ahh'ed and Jack frowned as he saw—or at least thought he saw—a wisp of snow curl from her fingers.