Shino lived upon her dreams like a kite lives upon the wind, buoyed up by them so that her feet would not touch the ground in despair. She’d dreamt desperately, feverishly, for some intervention when she’d had to pay her husband’s debts, but for the first time in her life, the wind had faltered, and the kite had dipped low.
Thus her dreams had ebbed to the barest breath when she’d met Jin. She’d thought him too thin, overly serious, a hopeless cook, and yet he had charmed her utterly. She’d expected nothing—nothing—and yet he’d come to her, pressed his long white body against hers, had whispered passionately into her ear.
And she felt herself aloft on her dreams once more when he’d returned for her, had stolen her and dashed out of town with her. Jin had pushed the boat away from shore, and the wind across the lake billowed against her, threatening to topple her, to dash her into the water.
And so, to save them, Shino had thrown her dreams after Jin, had flung them in his direction as the boat carried her toward refuge. Dreams of freedom, dreams of love and fulfillment, dreams she’d thought long-perished and withered like an old brown vine.
She gave them all to him, and kept none for herself.