Let me tell you about the dream I dreamed when I was burning.

Let me tell you about the place—the world is white in every direction, I cannot tell snow from sand from sea. White dunes, white waves, ice—is it the blasted desert outside of Phoenix? Or have I found my way back to First Beach in winter? I can't tell. I look in every direction for the sun, but all I can see is cirrus clouds in all directions, a white feathery ceiling pressing down from far away. I am alone.

But then I see them—walking towards me, but from so far away. The wind is stirring the clouds above me, the air feels heavier, but not with rain. Something else—I can't tell. But there they are. I run towards them.

Two. Not my two, not the two, not the ones I dreamed I knew; just one of those, and Sarah. White skin, white hair, the wolf is almost gone from her. Her eyes are no longer blue; the albino pink is the only change I see remaining from her true self. She is trapped in human form.

"No," she contradicts my unspoken words. "When she's safe with you, I'll go back. I just didn't want to frighten her." We both look down at the girl holding her hand.

Golden skin, slender limbs, her face is the same shape as mine, and she has my father's eyes. Strait black hair to her waist immediately puts me in mind of her own father, and when I study her features further I can see his broad lips on her small chin, too lush for her young features. But she'll change, I think, so fast, and she can grow in to them—

"Go." The young alpha is urging her towards me, but she lingers, her body darkening even as Sarah's appears to become even brighter, blending further in to the whiteness around us." "It's time for you to go back." The little one stares out at me with the stubbornness she could have gotten from either of her parents. It's almost enough to make me laugh.

"You got her out of the room?" I want to hug the pale girl, I want to rush towards her and open my arms, scoop them both up and hold them closer, closer, closer. But I know for each step I take towards them they will only be one further. Always just that one further. And this seems to be the closest Sarah can come now.

She is laughing. I have never heard her laugh. "It was easy! It stank like smoke, and she ran away. She was more worried about all of you than anything else."

"Is daddy okay?"

The little ones voice is so soft, so deep…so serious. So much of her father, so much of the greatest parts of my life, it brings tears immediately to my eyes. "What do you mean honey?" I am on my knees now, but I still can't get any closer to the two of them, even though now I am half crawling towards them. I can't keep myself from trying.

"She couldn't find him," Sarah says, and she is not laughing now. "Like I can't find Alice." She looks at me curiously. "I don't think anyone else has come."

"Would you rather they had?" I realize my knee-jerk, maternal guilt-trip is inappropriate too late, and further more, that it won't mean much to her. She wipes the curiousity from her face.

"No," she says. I am not prepared for her reply. "My mother is here, somewhere. I'll find her, and the rest of my pack." She offers me a half smile, still so strange on her face. "My first alpha is here too." Another laugh—joyful but still sharp, hard, spiking through the empty white. "Tell the Hunter that. And tell him my little pack can stay with him as long as he is good to their wolves."

"I will," I whisper. She is fading, fading, fading.

"And tell him not to call me Sarah," she says, sounding chiding. "I don't ever have to be human again, so I don't need that name. It was nice of Leah to try, I thought, but still…" The thought trails away. One of her hands finds its way to her hip, and she reminds me, for all the world, of the little boy who first showed her how the La Push wolves transform. As if she knows, she nods. "And tell him my name, please." I understand; she means the bratty boy wolf. She makes a sound—a wolf sound, a wild sound, a monster's sound. I understand.

"I will," I tell her. I am on my knees in the mysterious white, my hands outstretched, but I know only the little one might come to me now. "I promise."

The small alpha pushes my little girl. "Go," she says again, all business. "You can have it. She was your grandmother anyway." Her white face shines at me again, lurid pink eyes beaming out.

My daughter staggers towards me. It's hard for her to leave the side she's on, but her small brown legs are sturdy, preternaturally strong. Quicksand, I think. The white—it's sand. No bottom.

But she makes it across. I cradle her, crush her against me, feel the fire in her like explosions across my body, consumed by lava.

"Your brother doesn't like it when we're away from him," I whisper. My eyes are searching for the other girl, the one who won't come back. I can no longer see her; not even the sunset hues of her eyes remain visible as the clouds descend on us, but then, terrifyingly, her voice is right next to my ear.

"You should really take her to see Leah soon."

And she's gone.

When I open my eyes, I am shivering, but still feverishly warm. Weighted down by Jacob's limbs—I recognize his long brown fingers where they rest on my cheek and turn my head to kiss them.

The first face I see, however, is Carlisle's.

More endless white, I realize; the hospital is crisp and blank in every direction. Carlisle's benevolent, handsome face folds inward with relief, and he begins speaking—at least, I see his lips move, but the sounds are too fast and high for me to understand. My neck hurts, so I let imy head roll backwards again, and as I do it turns; I see who is sharing my room.

Alice.

Grief and guilt. And behind her, Edward, and beside him, Emmett, Quil, Rose, Charlie…too many. The are making more sounds—not as high and shrill as Carlisle's, but so much—Charlie is coming towards me, Renee is fluttering in from the door, Emily is crying. There is a lot of smiling. Relief. Exhaustion. Grief and guilt.

The little alpha is not there. Neither is Leah.

But I forget all of that—I forget everything then, because I see something that makes me forget everything, that takes away my breath, fills my eyes with tears. Something I never thought I would see again.

Jacob's face is closest. He says nothing. His hands are careful on my face; he was sitting next to my bed and his body was so long that when he fell asleep, his arms wrapped around me.

"It's okay," I whsper. "We all made it back—" he cuts me off with choked sobs, kissing my face wetly. He smells damp and unhappy; he smells a little like he did that first night in my room, in from the woods. I try to finish before I forget--"except Sarah." But I don't say Sarah. I say her wolf name, and then the room is quiet again.

Dead quiet.

Until Alice laughs.