This was the Serafina that Lonan knew best—the Serafina after the Porfirios died. Afraid of its own coasts but too poor to move. Dreading the change of seasons. Quietly taking Mistress Leroy’s sleeping herbs and forgetting the names of its dead.
Persis had never heard a door slam in Seller’s Moon. No raised voices, and no babies’ cries—no one wanted to stir up dust from the long season.