Burr reversed his grip on the spear so that it became more walking stick than weapon. The party spread out to stroll across the pasture seven abreast: On the left flank, the young men Anvellyne and Mardellian, on loan from the clan Bufrect. Then Weaver, who seemed to be vaguely attached to House Calladon. Brindle, its patriarch, walked in the middle. To his right was Prim. Well off to the right was Burr, who preferred keeping his spear arm free of flesh-and-blood obstructions. In the open space between him and Prim, Corvus hopped along, occasionally flying for short bursts when he fell behind or needed to clear one of the stone walls that divided the pastures.

In spite of Corvus’s words, Prim had been holding out for something in a gigantic vein. But as they drew closer to the cottage it became undeniable that it was in no way of unusual size. Not cramped, for certain, and of a somewhat rambling character, as bits had been added on from time to time. One could make out foundation stones of wings that did not exist anymore. These erupted from the ground like rows of teeth from gums. Those must have been relics of ancient sections of the cottage that Edda had built, lived in for a time, and got rid of—or simply allowed to disintegrate with the passage of time.

She wasn’t tiny, at least. She opened the door to greet them and was revealed to be about as tall as Burr. Her hair was white, full and long, braided down her back. She wore an apron streaked with flour, which she took this opportunity to give a brisk shake. The breeze caught the loose flour and bore it gently away. The flour caught the light as it drifted, and beguiled Prim’s eye, for the shape that it took and the manner of its movement was just like that of clouds in the sky when they drifted overhead on a summer’s day. This impression was so strong that it seized her mind entirely for a few moments, during which she could think of nothing save various times in her past life when she had gazed out her window or lain in the grass looking up at clouds.

She did not entirely return to the here and now until she found herself some moments later standing, along with the others, right in the forecourt of the cottage, gazing up at the face of Edda. Or actually not gazing up, since Edda wasn’t that tall; yet it felt up. Corvus, perched on the roof over the door, was doing the introducing, poking his long beak at each of them in turn and squawking out their name. Edda favored each of them with a look and—not a smile exactly, but an openness about the face that put one at ease somewhat as a pure and unfeigned smile might. “Primula,” she said, as if she’d heard of Prim.