They go to the kitchen. Amy makes tea. She turns back from the wave to find Scottie examining a spoon, turning it over, holding it up to the light, like it might hold some mystic property. She nearly laughs, and some of the anxious tension in her stomach subsides. Scottie’s always been doing things like that, like looking at spoons. Scrutinizing totally ordinary things that no ordinary person would more than glance at. Maybe that’s part of being a shaman. Maybe there’s more to an ordinary spoon than a mundane individual like her would normally expect.