"We are in the forest on the way to the deep stream beside the alder copse. There a plover calls in the deep woodsy stillness, and then a pair of martins dart across the overgrown path. Through the trees, I can see the thick and fast-moving line of flowing water, a steep bank beneath my feet, and the purple loosestrife and meadowsweet of spring.
Nell smiles at me, her face shifting in the light of the beech leaves and the vines, the dappled light around us falling on shallows and deep pools alike, the water rushing always, without pause.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk