She brushed it aside, and started forward. “It is not important, and we have work to do—”

I put a hand on her arm, although she didn’t seem to like that, so I pulled it back. But at least it stopped her. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I know I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box, but I need to understand this. Help me understand this.”

She looked at me for a moment, her dark eyes snapping. And then confused. “Sharpest pencil?”

I tried again, although I was pretty sure they had pencils in her era. “Brightest bulb?”

“What?”

“Sandwich short of a picnic? Eats soup with a fork? Would lose a debate with a doorknob?”

She smiled slightly, finally understanding, and showed off a dimple in her right cheek. It gave her a slightly lopsided grin, which was quirkily attractive. It was also better than the almost tragic expression she’d been wearing a moment ago.

So, I kept it up, although I was pretty sure she had the idea now. “Knitting with only one needle? Would argue with a sign post? Hasn’t seen the ball since kickoff?”

“How do you know so many of these?” she laughed.

“I grew up at a vampire’s court. Some of the guys had this game, to see how many ways they could tell me I was… a nice house with no furniture. A few shades beyond blonde. Not that smart.”

The pretty smile faded. “You would think that creatures so old would be wiser. But then, many places have that problem.”

She sat back down, and gazed out at the horizon for a moment. “The souls of fey who die in Faerie are said to continue after death,” she said. “It is believed that none really die, but are reabsorbed into the great soul of the world, and eventually live again in some form. And when they return to this great soul, they take their knowledge with them, to be added to the whole—a common memory, you see?”

I nodded.

“They can also add to it during life, as their souls are still connected to the world soul on some level, and thereby to each other. In any case, their experiences are remembered by Faerie itself, the knowledge carried by earth and sky, wind and sea. It burns in the fires of a thousand campsites, it trills in the songs the birds sing, it lives in every blade of grass and gently blowing leaf. It is… in all of us.

“Except for those who leave, and do not return.”

And, suddenly, I saw what I should have before: a graceful slant to an ear, not to a point, but headed that way. Like the sheen to her hair, which took on a purple tint when the light hit it just right. I’d assumed it was a reflection from her clothing, like I’d put down the iridescence along a cheekbone to expensive cosmetics.