My Daughter

"Help!"

Amy plowed through the door, stubbing her toe on the dresser in the process. She hobbled to Melody's bed, with Rory not far behind, and tried to mask the pain as Rory shook their daughter awake.

"It's okay, it's okay," Rory soothed. "It was just a bad dream!"

Melody sat up and hung her arms around Rory's neck, shaking her head furiously. "I was drowning," she gasped. "I was drowning!"

Amy and Rory looked at one another, ever aware of Melody's desire to be dirty than take baths and her utter loathing at the idea of swim lessons, which Anthony had loved as a child.

"I'll be right back," Amy said coolly.

Rory rubbed his daughter's back. "It's okay."

"Melody, I want to show you something," Amy said as she returned. "It's something I've kept with me every day since you were taken from me. Give me your hand." When Melody complied, Amy laid her palm over her daughter's. "You don't need to be afraid of the water. You were born a Pond."

"But ponds are small and still."

"Not all Ponds are small," Rory said, his eyes on his wife.

Amy removed her hand, revealing Lorna Bucket's prayer leaf.

Melody studied the stitching and soon it began to morph into something else: River.

"And sometimes the Pond is a River. A rushing, raging River."

"I don't understand."

"You will," Rory promised. "And one day, you'll be high diving into pools, you can take my word for it."