Amber looks at the girl in surprise. She’s clearly a feisty one, whether she knows it or not.

‘This isn’t Starbucks,’ the porter retorts.

‘Fine, then just leave this breakfast here,’ the girl says, pushing the tray towards me. ‘You’ll only throw it away.’

The porter shakes his head in exasperation and walks away.

‘Now you’re going to tell me you’re a vegetarian too, aren’t you?’ the girl says.

Amber laughs. ‘No chance. That was impressive though.’ Amber picks a sausage up and bites into it.

‘What do you mean?’

‘How gutsy you just were. Though I think the blue streaks in your hair kind of give it away.’

The girl examines a blue strand of her hair. ‘Turns out I’m a rebellious pain in the butt, who knew?’

They both laugh.

‘Okay, how about we try to remember some stuff while we wait for your breakfast,’ Amber says. ‘Let’s focus on the lodge and the lake. Anything else? A road? Any landmarks?’

The girl thinks about it for a moment. ‘Do you have paper and a pen?’ she eventually asks.

Amber nods, digging a small notepad and pencil out of her bag. She doesn’t use it much. It’s a struggle to write. She was clearly meant to be left-handed.

The girl takes the pencil and stares at it. Then she suddenly bends her head over the pad, her blonde and blue hair trailing over the paper as she starts sketching. Over the next few minutes, Amber watches, amazed, as the girl draws the most beautiful sketch of a vast lodge overlooking a glistening lake. It wasn’t a classical type of drawing. It had a Manga feel to it.

The girl looks up when she’s finished. ‘I think I can draw.’

‘You bloody well can,’ Amber says with a laugh. ‘Let’s have a proper look. Is this the lodge you dreamt of?’

The girl nods as she hands the drawing over and Amber examines it. The lodge is made from wood with large windows that reflect the icy lake before it. A veranda leads out into it and behind the lodge are snow-topped mountains and hints of a forest. A bird glides over the lake, its wings wide and feathery.

‘I don’t remember the details,’ the girl remarks. ‘I improvised a few bits. I remember the bird in my dream though.’

‘There was a drawing of a bird like this in the notepad,’ Amber says, opening the notepad at the right page. ‘A ptarmigan.’

The girl looks over her shoulder at the page. ‘Oh, yes.’ She seems disappointed. ‘The dream probably means nothing then. I must’ve copied the bird from this notepad.’

‘Don’t discount it straight away. It’s no coincidence you have this notepad. Your dream, and this drawing, may well be based on reality. Your reality.’

‘Do you think the drawing could help then?’ the girl asks, looking hopeful.