“She’d had sunstroke once, up on the downs, when she’d gone without a bonnet. And this was like that; the world around here was in worrying shades of dull green, yellow, and purple, without shadows. The air was so full of heat that she felt she could squeeze smoke out of it. She was in…reeds, they looked like, much taller than her… …with sunflowers growing in them, except… …the sunflowers were white… …because they weren’t, in fact, sunflowers at all. They were daisies. She knew it. She’d stared ...at them dozens of times, in that strange picture in the Faerie Tales. They were daisies, and these weren’t giant reeds around her, they were blades of grass and she was very, very small. She was in the weird picture. The picture was the dream, or the dream was the picture. Which way around didn’t matter, because she was right in the middle of it. If you fell off a cliff, it wouldn’t matter if the ground was rushing up or you were rushing down. You were in trouble either way.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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