Her old life of being alone.

She’d miss many things about Sudbury. She’d miss the lack of traffic congestion. She’d miss the friends she’d made here, including Reuben Montego and, yes, even Louise Benoît. She’d miss the relaxed atmosphere of tiny Laurentian University, where she’d done her mitochondrial DNA studies that had proven Ponter Boddit was indeed a Neanderthal.

But, most of all, she realized, as she stood at the side of the country road looking up at the clear night sky, she’d miss this. She’d miss seeing stars in a profusion beyond counting. She’d miss seeing the Andromeda galaxy, which Ponter had identified for her. She’d miss seeing the Milky Way, arching overhead.

And—

Yes!

Yes!

She’d especially miss this: the aurora borealis, flickering and weaving across the northern sky, pale green sheets of light, ghostly curtains.

Mary had indeed hoped to catch another glimpse of the aurora tonight. She’d been on her way back from Reuben Montego’s place out in Lively (hah!), where she’d had a final barbecue dinner with him and Louise, and she’d pulled over at the side of the road specifically to look up at the night sky.

The heavens were cooperating. The aurora was breathtaking.

She’d forever associate the northern lights with Ponter. The only other time she’d seen them had been with him. She felt an odd sensation in her chest, the expanding feeling that went with awe battling the contracting sensation that accompanied sadness.

The lights were beautiful.

He was gone.

A cool green glow bathed the landscape as the aurora continued to flicker and dance, aspens and birches silhouetted in front of the spectacle, their branches waving slightly in the gentle August breeze.

Ponter had said he often saw the aurora. Partly that was because his cold-adapted people preferred more northerly latitudes than did the humans of this world.