Faith’s cloud rode the wind faster than Jay could clamber after her. She zipped up cliffs and over divots. He had to search for shallower paths and leap over trenches in the steepening terrain. Soon Jay lost sight of her, but he continued to trudge up the slopes. Occasionally he glimpsed a pinprick of white against the mountainside, but always lost it when the wind whipped it left and right.
The third island of Sheridan was barely long enough across to hold an airstrip. Only a handful of people stepped off the plane, and half of them just wandered through gift-shops and stopped at the Starbucks to stretch their legs as the plane refueled. Jay joined only five others waiting to pass through customs.