Mary and Colin return to Misselthwaite after the war, on an afternoon when a high wind spatters raindrops like shrapnel against their cheeks. Colin gives Mary his hand from the car, and she holds on all the way inside, to the happy welcome.
Afterwards, they strip in their new bedroom and change into rainclothes. They’ve not discussed where they’re going, it's too necessary, too urgent.
They strip again, partly, in the garden, whispering Dickon's name into each other's skin. Their howls mix with the wind, their moistures with the rain. For his memory they will make life among the ashes.