Tapchaptake that, feel this, kick that, calm down. She doesn’t know why desire has come, or if it’ll fall into nothing again. She waitstaylives with the dream and not with time.

~

Their dance has come out the other side of night, the sun-lamps giving the corridors a darker red for going home. But there’s plenty of time left for dancing.

Gunnie curtseybows to Higgie with all the courtesy of young to old. They gustdarttwistattack her off. Brenna’s taken her sleeping sister out for a waltz.

Inga and Øyvind came late to have enough vigourwhirr for the best of the dance: people drunk and fullspilloverflowing with clumsyuseless joy. Their steps and skips are neat and quick,

whirlrushdancespinning each other with familiar arms. Olaf and Erlend tumble in front of them: they jumpspringvault the clumsy fools without breaking their beat. Øyvind had taken too long to reach home,

from outer space, and Inga was born and grew up to his age during his final run, but they always could dance. They speedthrowrolldrive down the Hall’s greatbig set.

~

But Darling and Astrid aren’t there. They’ve come out to the back of the Hall to a bubblebell to breathe and watch another stormstrifestrainspeeddust, the Lights’ antics in time with the music.

Under the magicdelight Darling asks again, “Could I take a name?” And Astrid turns. “We give. But you – to who? Who knows you enough to give it back?

You can’t just take what you wantneed.” “What I need,” says Darling, with a little voice, but this is worse. “That’s what I said,” spits Astrid, eyes reflecting the gaudyshining Lights.

Darling’s not feebleuseless. With powerworthattention, she pelthammerruns Astrid. She names the dreads that Astrid thinks are hidenestled but which lie too close to the skin. She chuckthrowfires:

“Just because you lost your home, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t look for ours,” and “Some of us never had a placedistancepartwhile.” The word is cruel.

“You can’t understand what it’s like, to free yourself from all this expectation, to have to remake yourself.” Has Darling listened to nothing of Astrid’s home?

Or too much? She hasn’t said enough about her life for any of this to land any other way than cruel, her wantneeds tanglepuzzled with the voice of power. So Astrid plays

the dour local, saying nothing, turning away, and now it’s Darling that’s pelthammerrunning down the centre of the set, the dancers easily swinging to let her by.

~

There’s only one dance left now: a waltz. The dancers are exhaustedbroken. A few are able to look into their partners’ eyes, but most are only heads on shoulders and shufflelimping feet.

There are other people in strangerweird clothes, and Light is gathering round the girders. Everybody’s on the floor, not seeing, or maybe they’re seeing and don’t care.