Her hair was messy, sweat was beginning to stain the lace in the neck of her dress, and it would be hours before Lorreigh Peters could return to her room. At ten o’clock, the sun was high and the wind was whispering between the rocks on the shore of the riverside beach outside the estate of Northerford, upon which the Peters lived. Lorreigh had taken the clothes off of the line and set them in her basket before her 9-year-old brother Daniel had torn out of one of the house’s doors and ran barefooted down the hillside to the shoreline. She had called after him, but then her youthful spirit took over and before long, her own shoes were lost on the grassy hill and she was racing to catch up with Daniel, her cinnamon-red air slipping from its hold and flying behind her as she ran.