“Closing his eyes, he held her tightly and sifted place in a general southerly direction, pushing to the farthest limits his diminished power could carry him. The moment he rematerialized, he instantly sifted again, arms locked around her. Railroad track. Sift. Grocery store. Keep moving. Roof of a house. Sift. Cornfield. Sift. Cornfield. Sift. Cornfield. Sift. Cornfield. Bloody Midwest. Sift.”

“I drank some of that lake! I might have choked on a fish or a frog or a...a...a turtle!""It is wisest to keep one's mouth shut while sifting."She skewered him with a frosty stare. "Now you tell me." Damn the fairy, anyway. There she stood, feeling ragtag and bedraggled, and he only looked more beautiful wet, all drippy and shimmery gold-velvet, his hair a wet tangle to his waist. "Come Gabrielle," he said, extending his hand, "we must keep moving. They can track me by what little magic I'm using to sift, but only to a general vicinity. We need to keep sifting, to spread out their search.""Is there anything else it's wisest to do that I should know about before we just pop off again?" She tucked her hands behind her back so he couldn't grab her and just sift rather than answering her. Besides, she needed a minute to brace herself for the next bout of traveling in a manner that defied all the known laws of physics. "You might try kissing me. Better my tongue than a frog, no?" Dark eyes sparking gold, he reached for her. "Close contest.”

“You stayed,” he murmured... Her softly whispered answer sifted into his hair where her lips rested against the top of his head. “You didn’t let go.”

“Sifting daylight dissolves the memory, turns it into dust motes floating in light.”

“He sifts the radio waves, but it's all men singing like women and women singing like men...”

“Satan demands to sift us like sand through his fingers, and God, knowing everything, allows it.”