It's funny how dreams worked. Sometimes disjointed and confusing, sometimes nearly indistinguishable from reality. The dream Aves fell into was more of a memory than anything else.
They'd been driving for a while, the music blasting as a ten year old Aves and her brother Connor sang at the tops of their lungs. They sang rather poorly at that volume, but it was fun, and that was what mattered. Aunt Daisy drove down the highway, her eyes forever searching for signs they were being followed.
As the song ended, Connor laughed and reached back to squeeze Avery's knee, which always tickled, and that made her laugh, which darkened the car a bit.
"Connor,"Aunt Daisy reprimanded.
"What? She's a kid. She should be able to have fun."
Aves sort of shrank back into herself as they spoke. It was the same argument every time.