I stood in the water. It splashed past my ankles, dark blue-green and warm. Soft mud squished beneath my feet. I made fists with my toes and watched a bright green cloud of powdery silt rise from the river’s bottom, swirling around my legs. Patches of reeds grew, stretching into the river, bending lightly in the wind, as though they were whispering gossip to each other. In the distance, across the vast expanse of water, the sun was setting or rising, a small ball of yellow hovering at the edge of low dark hills, the silver-nacre sky around it painted with pink and yellow.

I looked over my shoulder. A yellow shore greeted me, touched with patches of bright green grass, and beyond it palms stretched upward.

We were definitely not in Kansas anymore.

A slender bird walked past me on long legs. It had a curved neck and a long beak and I realized it was a heron.

A presence brushed against me, saturated with magic. I turned. A jackal the size of a rhino waded into the river downstream from me and lapped the water, watching me with golden eyes.

Right. I was standing in the Nile, watching Anapa, and this was not an ordinary dream. There were rules to this dream. No promises, no striking of bargains, in fact, no talking. Nobody yet had managed to get into a shitty bargain with a god by keeping their mouth shut.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The Jackal-Anapa raised his head and looked into the distance, at the sun. “Do you like the way it smells?”

It smelled verdant. It smelled like the moisture of the river mixing with the fragrance of dry grasses from the shore, and flowers, and fish, and rich mud. It smelled like the sort of place where life would flourish and hunting would be plentiful.

“It’s your father’s blood. It calls to you,” the Jackal said.

Bullshit. My father was an animal.

“Animals miss their home, too.”

Right. He was in my head. No thinking, then.

“Do you know why others fear you? They call you beastkin, they try to kill you? It is because of this. Of beastly memories you carry in your blood. The Firsts, the pack leaders of your kind, were made in much the same way as you. When primitive man prayed, he prayed for strength. His life was ruled by forces beyond his control: lightning, rain, wind, sun, and things with teeth that sought to eat him in the night. So the primitive man resorted to begging. He prayed to the predators, to those stronger than he, and sometimes, very, very rarely, his prayers were answered and a boon was granted. The Firsts, they are a perfect mix of human and animal. You are not, and thus you do not have the Firsts’ strength or control, but you share in their memories. You see the world through your mother’s eyes and through your father’s.”