Rowan

"I have a surprise for you—Hey!" I laughed as a bundle of fur launched itself into my arms, frantically trying to lick my chin.

We had agreed to try to meet every couple of weeks, so as to not draw attention to our whereabouts. Even if we complete our quota for the day, there are always watchful eyes in unsuspecting places.

I would carry a sprig of small, blue flowers in my pocket on days when I was planning to visit the lake. Some days, she joined me; other days, she was busy, or it was too risky to leave. I couldn't help but feel a slight pang of disappointment on days when she wasn't there. But that made the times we did share together all the better.

I had been waiting restlessly at the clearing for almost an hour before being met with the familiar bark of her companion. I ran over to meet them.

After accepting the dog's playful greeting, I turned to her. "Come, let me show you."

I explained excitedly as we walked up the slope: "Wade and I would do this all the time when we were young. Sometimes, we'd even sleep out here, before they instilled the curfew. I found the perfect view, all those years ago, and it's still my favorite spot in the entire faction."

We stopped in front of the grand masterpiece: a simple woven blanket, knotted at each end around two sturdy trees.

"It's not much," I began, somewhat self-consciously.

She beamed. "I love it."

We laughed as we clambered into the hammock, finally settling into it with our feet dangling, facing the open clearing.

She tilted her head back and gazed upward at the sky, through the broad, green foliage filtering golden sunlight. She breathed deeply and then sighed blissfully.

"This is so wonderful. Thank you for sharing this with me. All of this."

I looked at her for a moment. I gently took her small, bronze hand in mine, so large and dark in comparison.

She hesitated for a moment before busily reclaiming my hand in both of hers, spreading my clumsy fingers with quick, nimble movements.

"They say the lines on our hands determine our fate," she murmured, gently tracing the creases.

"What does mine say?"

She concentrated for a moment before stating matter-of-factly, "This line is strong and bold; it means you will do great things."

I smiled. "Mom used to tell me that when I was younger."

"Lillian?"

I shook my head. "Cynthia. She'd tell me all the time, she'd say, 'Rowan, it is in your destiny to do great things one day.'

"And then Wade would ask, 'Ma, what am I destined for? And she'd laugh and say, 'And, you my first son, you are destined to reach the blankets in the high cupboard!' And we'd laugh and he'd fetch the blankets before we said our goodnights."

Out of the corner of my eye, I realized that she had been looking at me. I blinked hard and cleared my throat, turning my attention instead to her palm. "And what does yours say?"

Her fingers curved self-consciously inward and she started to pull away. "Mine's a bit rough. There are…many lines, and—"

"Well, perhaps that just means that you've lived a multitude of lives before this one." I stated simply, shrugging as I looked towards her.

She gave me an incomprehensible look before it transformed into a slow, incredulous smile. "Yes. Perhaps."

I looked back down at her hand, pointing to her palm. "And what about this one? There's a break in the middle of it."

She laughed. "Well, perhaps it means that I will die and come back to life again."