A small boy in an oversized coat arrives on the beach, with the sleeves pulled over his hands. He looks around nervously, glancing at the small group messing about a little down the shore. Is that them? They look a bit like them don't they? What if-

“Oliver?” calls one of them – is that Meyer's nibling? – waving.

He smiles despite his nerves, and waves, hurrying over.

They introduce reintroduce themselves and offer to demonstrate their sparks – floating a pebble ; turning into a bird ; whipping up little whirlwinds ; glowing warmly ; fading and becoming transparent. Oliver has never seen so many sparks in one place. They're all very cool, he thinks, although he's most impressed at how comfortable they all look with them.

“Would you like to show us your flowers?”

They turn to him, but from their expressions Oliver decides he could probably say no if he wanted to. He does want to show them, though. Timidly he roles up his sleeves, revealing the new blooms that he managed to hide from his parents, rather than plucking, this morning.

There's a collective “ooh” from the group – “that's sweet,” they say, “they're beautiful.”

He blushes deeply and breaks into a smile. He pushes his hands forwards so everyone can get a good look.

“I'll probably have to pluck them again before I go home.”

“That's okay – they'll regrow, right. They're not going to go away, they'll be there when you're ready.”

This time Oliver keeps the flowers, putting them in a glass by his bed.