Until my adventure in the cave, I had no concept of telepathy or whatever this was that Dreamer used to communicate to us. Yes, there were words in the English language, but they weren't totally correct, having been invented to describe something that was only suspected to exist. I could use words like send, intuit, receive, know, understand, concept, but every one of them fell short of the truth one way or another. And every one took that split second of thought to figure out what was meant when someone used it to communicate to someone else. It was easier to say that Dreamer talked, he said things, we heard him. We talked back, sometimes verbally, sometimes by thought. Even though these terms were further from the mark than the others, they described things we were familiar with and it was easier to understand them and modify their meanings a bit so that they fit. It was difficult to use one set of terms for Dreamer's communication and another set for everyone else, even though. Because we were forced to buy them from my parents, and did so with money from a joint account, there is a sticky legal question about the ownership. We need to decide ... About them, and also the money in the account." You can have them back," he said. "And we'll split the funds." The harps were worth nothing to him; there was nothing he could do with them. And having them gone would be another reminder he didn't have to deal with. "I don't ... I'm not in the business of causing problems for you, Caitlyn." Okay," she said. He was wearing the black dress shirt she had always liked, with the wide pointed collars; it brought out the coloring in his eyes and hair, the breadth of his shoulders, strength of his jaw. Everyone looked good in black, but she had always thought he wore it better than most. Certainly better than that that fop Aidan. She never wanted to look away; she clung to the sight of him like a drowning woman. "I'm not going to take your salary from you, Jon. Whatever.
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