"I don't remember when I used to, if I ever did," Elvis says, glancing at her when he can. It's hard to hold a real conversation like this, but for these few moments of the world falling away, leaving nothing but the two of them, her hands against his back and the wind carrying him forward, it's worth it. To feel like he's flying instead of falling, or even teetering on the edge of a precipice, like he so often finds himself. The rush of air mingled with smoke, the way Effy sounds, happy and out of breath, they're things to hold on to, to make the darkness a little less overwhelming.

Trying to think back now, he still can't come up with anything, though he's sure he, like so many other children, used to do this at some point or another. His life's been divided into sections for a long time, though, the before and the after, and it's usually difficult to recall anything specific before the day they found his mother's body in the water. She probably used to push him. It seems like the sort of thing she'd do. "S'kinda nice, though."