Early the next morning, Kelyn goes up the stairs and out into the open air, donning the dark glasses which protect her eyes from the bright sunlight. She climbs the steps out of the shallow pit which protects the tunnel entrances, and heads up the steep cliff. Sea pinks bob in the grass, the wind tousles her hair, and high above her the seagulls soar and cry. As always, it reminds her of her grandfather, who'd taken her foraging when she was very small, encouraging her to keep going up the steep slope to the field beyond. That's where the sorrel grew, which was so delicious in soup. Kelyn sighs in memory and anticipation.