“Bring back the Dawn Days?”

“Aye.”

“The creatures got a story about a faerie?”

“A secret story.”

Magpie was flummoxed that she’d never heard it herself. The crows couldn’t keep secrets to save their beaks. “But . . . you don’t think they mean Vesper, do you?”

“Nay. When first she came I wondered. She does make you want to believe! Wait until you see her; you’ll understand.”

Magpie let out a humorless laugh. “Ach, I’ve seen her!”

“Oh, aye?”

“And she’s not like to forget it soon. . . .” Magpie chewed her lip.

“What do you mean?”

“I, er . . . sort of . . . turned her hair into worms.”

Poppy stared at her for a long moment, her face frozen in disbelief. At last she whispered, “Nay . . .”

“Aye.”

A guffaw erupted from Poppy that threatened to knock both faeries from their branch. Her face turned as red as her hair and she couldn’t stop laughing. Magpie had to start in too, and soon both lasses were clinging to the branch, wheezing with laughter. When she was able to gasp out the words, Poppy asked, “How did you do it?”

Magpie’s laughter died away. “I don’t know! I didn’t even vision any glyphs. I don’t know what glyphs I’d even use if I was trying. It just . . . happened.”

Poppy looked puzzled. “Are you sure it was you who did it?”

Magpie shrugged. She knew how it sounded. That wasn’t how magic worked. She thought of the curls of light that had wavered off her fingertips. She wasn’t about to tell Poppy that and get a blank stare in return, so she said, “Well, Vesper believes it, so I reckon I’ve made a nice new enemy, my first day back in Dreamdark.”

“Oh, Vesper, she—” Poppy began, but fell suddenly silent. “Old Father,” she said with surprise, her eyebrows shooting up as she glanced at Magpie. “Blessings to you and the earth at your roots.” Her head cocked toward the linden tree in an attitude of listening. “Aye, very pleased she’s come back. Why? I don’t—” She looked at Magpie, wide-eyed, and said, “Old Father Linden wonders why you’ve come back to Dreamdark.”

“For true?”

Poppy nodded, seeming stunned that the ancient tree was speaking.

“Well—er . . . ,” Magpie stammered, caught off guard. “I . . . I came to find the Magruwen.”

Poppy looked even more stunned. Her expression hovered between disbelief and dismay. “You’re jesting.”

Magpie shook her head. She saw Poppy’s eyes go softly out of focus as she listened to the tree for a time before saying, “Nay, faeries have all but forgotten him. He’s only legend now.” She paused. “The dreamer . . . I like that.” She paused again, then murmured, “Aye, I never thought of it that way. . . .”

There followed a long listening that made Magpie antsy. Poppy’s eyes were far away and her brow creased with worry, and Magpie longed to hear what she was hearing. She tried not to wiggle. Long moments passed before Poppy said faintly, “Aye, old Father, I’ll tell her . . . ,” and blinked her eyes back into focus.