'Dorothy, get over here, quick!' A familiar figure sits in the shadow of the sand dunes. Ander, the strongest craftsman among the Pioneers, and the best 'adult friend' according to Dorothy's diary. 'You're setting off tomorrow, right? All packed for summer camp?' He asks with a smile. 'I always knew you were bright, ever since you were small. You'll definitely manage to fly away from this tiny place one day!' Ander puts down the flask and pats her shoulder, 'So go, study hard, and experience everything in these lands waiting to be discovered. We'll always be proud of you!' The flask topples, spilling onto the sand, and turning into a dark-colored pattern resembling a wooden tabletop. Dorothy remembers this desk from her middle school days, her closest companion in Starling's little reading room. 'You brat! You got a death wish or something?' Snap! A middle finger flicks onto her forehead. Dorothy clutches her head, letting out a cry of pain as she takes a step back. Starling stands at the table, her arms folded. She used to be a researcher before her frontier days. They say she would spend eight days a week in the laboratory. 'If it hurts, then stop burning the midnight oil. Studying is great and all, but you're not going to grow any taller if you don't get more sleep!' She pulls Dorothy up, and walks over to the small bed sandwiched between stacks of books, shoving her into it, 'Now get some rest! I'll wake you up when it's time!' —Bang. Dorothy falls onto the soft bed. She does not resist, like sand caught in a storm as the scent of detergent envelopes her. As she turns her quilt over, her young mother holds Dorothy in her arms. 'So, where were we in our story?' The book is flipped to a new page. 'Oh right. The doctor went into the forest again...' 'Is that doctor just like dad?' Dorothy hears her own voice. 'Yes, sweetie. Whenever you can't find him, it's because he's out there helping others. Dad's on the road helping the sick, just like when Starling cooked for you when I was sick. Just like when uncle Ander built us that sturdy furniture. It's good to help people, and will always make everything better.' 'So I can help people too?' A child's tender voice comes from her throat. 'Of course... my little...' Her mother's reply grows distant, and blurs to the point that she can no longer make out the words. Dorothy opens her eyes, and the dream fades away. She finds herself on her lunch break in a meeting room on Rhodes Island, and within the hourglass used for white noise, the last grain of sand falls.