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even to shift her weight, but she felt incredibly heavy and suddenly realized what they meant by waterlogged . She felt like the two-ton trunk of a tree.
    Rummaging through the kit, he produced some bandages and Neosporin. He held them up and said, “Glad I always keep a first aid kit in my backpack.”
    “Oh, my backpack …” she said faintly, full of regret, remembering shrugging it off desperately in the cold water. “My supplies …” But she knew wriggling out of it had saved her life.
    “Don’t worry about that now.” He gingerly dabbed the bandage on the cut. “I’m just going to clear some of the blood away so I can have a better look at the wound.” After a moment of dabbing he said, “It’s stopped bleeding.”
    “Where am I, exactly?” she asked, wondering how far she’d been swept away.
    “You’re way backcountry. Don’t know how long you were in the drink.”
    She squinted, swallowed hard. “Think I floated on a limb for a while.” She remembered feeling her arms lodged between branches.
    “Probably saved your life.” He shook his head slightly. “I hiked about six hours to get out this far.” He affixed a bandage with tape and smiled amiably. “Luckily, this is the first backcountry camp on this trail. We should be able to make it back within a day.” His smile faded as he studied her intently.
    “What is it?” she asked, uncomfortable suddenly under his gaze.
    “Do you remember anything you said before you woke up?”
    “Was I talking in my sleep?”
    He nodded. “Were you having a dream?”
    Madeline shook her head, which throbbed in protest. “Not exactly, I …”
    And then, checking the tape on the bandage, the stranger touched his bare hand to the skin of her forehead, and striking visions flickered to life before her.
    A masquerade party—costumed people whirling on a dance floor.
    Tinkling notes of a harpsichord drifting down a grand hall.
    Climbing inside a horse-drawn carriage on a busy cobblestone street.
    Racing in a Model T along a dirt road in pursuit of another car.
    Rain falling in sheets beyond a French window.
    Fighting off the images, Madeline managed to speak. “No, I don’t remember any dreams.” She wasn’t about to go into detail about her wonderful “gift” with this stranger. Her head hurt too much to concentrate on those elusive visions, and they slipped away. “How bad is it?” she asked him tentatively.
    “I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Just rest and someone to watch over you. Your pupils are a little dilated. Can you focus?” He held up a hand. She nodded. “Do you feel sick to your stomach?”
    “Hard to tell. I just generally feel terrible.” She struggled to sit up then, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable the ground was. Once up, she realized she was lying on a vast stretch of bleached white driftwood, stripped of its bark over time by the river, jumbles upon jumbles of it carried down over the years and distributed along the bank by the same river that had brought her there. A particularly sharp limb had been under her back. The man watched her sit up, readying to grab her if she got dizzy.
    “I spotted your green shirt in the white branches. You were in the water, tangled in those logs,” he told her. “I was a little afraid to approach you. Thought you might have been …”
    “What?” she said, unsteadily getting to her feet. “Dead?” Her legs were positively numb, and she wobbled, barely maintaining her balance.
    He nodded.
    “And you pulled me out of the water?”
    “Yes.”
    Madeline crinkled her brow. She remembered hands grabbing at her in the water, pulling her down. Perhaps she’d dreamed it. Or maybe it had just been the limbs of a tree. She also remembered the dark visions that had accompanied them.
    “When I got closer, I heard you gasping.”
    “And talking.”
    “Yeah, that, too, after I picked you up.” He smiled. It was a lovely smile.
    “I said something embarrassing, didn’t I?”
    “No,