Still nervous, Paks neared the fountain. Its water lay perfectly clear, a silken skin that rippled with every breath of air; the falling drops from one level to the next sparkled like jewels in the long, slanting rays of the sun. She tore her gaze from the water and approached the bronze basin on its pedestal of stone. An offering basin, she was sure: but what offerings were acceptable to Kuakkganni? Childhood memories of the dark tales her grandfather had told clouded her mind. Blood, he'd said. Kuakkganni follow the oldest gods, and blood they demand.

"It is customary to place one's offering in the basin." The voice rang deep and resonant, complex. Paks jerked her head up and found herself face to face with a tall, dark-faced man in a hooded robe of greens and browns. Her heart leaped against her ribs; she felt sweat spring out on her back. She had heard nothing.

"Sir, I—" she swallowed, as her voice failed, and tried again. "Sir, I know not what offerings would be acceptable—to a Kuakgan."

The heavy brows arched. "Oh? And why would one with no knowledge of Kuakkganni come seeking one?"

Paks found it hard to meet those dark eyes. "Sir, I was told to."

"By whom?"

"By the elves, sir." Paks did not miss the sudden shift of shoulders, the movement of brows and eyelids.

"Go on, then. What elves, and why?"

"Sir, the elves of the Ladysforest. The one who sent me said that he was of the family of Sialinn."

"And his message?"

"That the elfane taig was once more awake, and lost elf freed."

"Ahh. That is news indeed. And did he chance on you, to be his messenger, or had he other reasons?"

"I had been there—" Paks began to shiver, remembering as if it were happening the final conflict in the round chamber.

"Hmmm. So there is more reason than chance. Well, then, I'll have your name, wanderer, and you shall indeed offer something to the peace of the grove which you displace."

"My name is Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter—"

"From the northwest, by your patronymic. And for an offering, what have you?"

Paks pulled the little pouch out of her tunic. "Sir, as I said, I do not know what would please—but I have these—" She poured out on her palm the largest jewels from the treasure.

"Any would be acceptable," said the Kuakgan. "Place your offering in the basin." Paks wondered why he did not simply take one, but chose a green stone from them and set it carefully at the base of the bowl. The others she returned to the pouch.

"And I," said the Kuakgan as if continuing a sentence, "am Master Oakhallow. As you knew, a Kuakgan. But I think you must have strange ideas, child, of what Kuakkganni are—what, then?"

To her surprise, Paks found herself telling her grandfather's lore. "And he said, sir, that—that Kuakkganni ate babies—sir—at the dark of midwinter."