Flashback
As you scratch Buster's head, you find memories beginning to come back
to you. A snatch of memory, like a dim photograph, flashes into your
mind: A cake, with eight candles on it, people singing Happy Birthday,
and then someone bringing out a little black puppy... a minitaure
version of this dog here. "I guess I am Sarah Wells," you
mutter. You get to your feet. "Well, I suppose I can't lie around
all day," you tell Buster, who pants and wags his tail
enthusiastically, seeming to ignore the dried blood in his fur. But
you can't; your skull is aching terribly. You put a hand to your head,
wincing, only to have another flashback....
