In the foreground of the picture was a girl with arms and legs brown instead of pinky white, wearing a short tunic instead of a pant suit. What was it made of? Something rough and soft at the same time, shaped rather than woven. In the girl's hands was a long stick with a metal piece at one end. She was leaning forward in the picture, so that her red hair fell about her shoulders, hiding her face.

“Time, girls. Bring up your paintings and pin them on the board.”

Ruth painted on, humming under her breath. She had found a way to paint the hairiness in the tunic, using an almost dry brush.

“Ruth!”

She jumped, looked up and saw everyone standing at the front of the room. “Yes, Teacher Jonson?”

“Your drawing, please.”

“Oh, yes.” She snatched the wet paper, fell over the desk and scurried to the front.

“Pin it up with the others, then.” Teacher Jonson turned to look at the other work. “Patience, will you explain the significance of the colours you have chosen?”

The lesson went on. Ruth stared at her painting. What had she done? It was her dream exactly. But how could she possibly explain it?

Teacher Jonson turned, looked at Ruth's drawing for a long moment and then removed it from the board. “No giggling, please, girls. Pay attention.”

She didn't say one word to Ruth, and at the end of the class Ruth escaped from the comments of the others and went up to the Dome. What was there beyond the eastern mountains that drew her as iron filings are drawn to a magnet? That was where her dream had come from, and somewhere beyond that range of hills was something without which she would never be whole.

But they'll never let me leave. I'll have to stay for ever, never being a part of the Web. I wish I were old. I wish my life was practically over. No, I don't mean that. Not yet. Not till I've had a chance to live and be myself. If only they'll let me.

RUTH went to bed thinking about escape, and that night the nightmare came. She was falling down a wellshaft, falling and falling for a very long time. Then she was in icy water, choking, fighting to get free. She woke in terror, with the sheets tangled around her legs. Her mouth was dry and her throat ached as if she had been screaming.

“What's going on?”

“Is it a fire?”

She tried to shrink down under the tangled bedclothes, but at that moment the light was snapped on. There was Angela, frowning like an avenging angel.

“Ruth? Well, I suppose I should have guessed. What are you doing, screaming like that?”