Rain rumbled in over marshes dragging its sky behind. Hans-Peter read his sister’s letter, cradled her words against gusting winds. Someone said you’re crying but then everyone here cries. Jonas helped Leon into his pig suit. It was tricky to align human eyes with pig mask eyes. Play the music directed Isabella. Hans-Peter made an abrupt about turn. An old man in oilskins watched him from the road. Would you like to borrow a butterfly net, the old man asked. Rain seemed to pull marshes after it leaving its sky behind to become earth. Ilse read her brother’s letter, cradled his words against gusting winds. The land lay flat and rolling, a sea-lion dreaming time away. She climbed some steps and pushed at the loft cover. It opened and she hauled herself in by her wrists. Her brother’s butterfly net was caught on a nail knocked into a rafter. Carefully, so as to avoid snagging, she manoeuvred the net free. A few inches from her head birds tap-danced. Whatever she remembered she could not cry. She pressed on the rusty catch of a suitcase. The catch sprung up and she eased open the lid. She saw herself, folded in two, lying inside. Her pale blue dress drifted from her flesh and wound itself about the sky.