You are a glorified pixie-carrier. Heh, you are Enbarr.

Croi sniffs but refuses to reply—it’s not like her other self is wrong.

Soon Croi comes to a building that feels more like a forest; its walls are trees growing tightly together. The entrance to it is framed by two rowan trees leaning toward each other. Though there are no kin at the entrance, Croi and Tinder can hear the hum of multiple voices coming from inside.

“Let’s go!” Tinder hops up and down on Croi’s shoulder, nearly falling off in the process.

Croi takes a step toward the entrance, then pauses when a laughing maid runs out of the building and toward her. She’s being chased by another fae maid whose face is bright with glee. Croi tries to move aside to avoid colliding with the first maid, but she needn’t have bothered; both the maids run through her as if they are insubstantial—or perhaps she is. Croi turns around swiftly and sees the fae maids turn into smoke and dissipate, though their laughter echoes.

“What was that?!” Croi demands out loud.

“What was what?” Tinder says in a perplexed tone.

Were we the only ones who saw those fae maids?

“Were they ghosts? Are we haunted?” Croi thinks, shivering. “Why do I think we’ve seen the one who was being chased before?”

The Robber Queen before she wore sorrow like a second skin.

Croi stops short at her other self’s words and looks back again, as if hoping to see the fae maids once more.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tinder demands.

“I’ve just had an experience,” Croi says. “Have some patience with me.”

“What experience?”

“A ghostly one.”

Need I remind you the Robber Queen is still alive?

“What?” Tinder exclaims.

“No, never mind. Let’s go see where the aroma leads us,” Croi says, and quickens her steps. The forest building encloses a large, open space within its walls. A silver peal of laughter comes from above, and they look up.

“Flings!” Tinder exclaims.

Flings are tiny kin, smaller even than the pixie. They have dragonfly wings and flower-shaped bodies. Instead of clothes, their bodies are covered by colorful petals that grow out from their skin. There are as many types of flings as there are flowers. Instead of being born, these flings grow from mother plants. The ceiling of the building they are in is made of the branches of the trees that form the four walls of the structure. Multitoned fuchsia flings roost in the branches of these trees, brightening the space with their jeweled forms.

But Croi is not looking at them. Her attention is on the exhibits set up in the center of the building around which many kin rotate, tasting, viewing, admiring, and on occasion purchasing, either with favors or spells.

“Ah! It’s the School fair!” Tinder, in her excitement, flies up in the air and shoots forward like a crazed star, leaving Croi behind.

Rude.

Croi is a bit more hesitant, waiting a while before wading into the multitudes of kin present, a bit overwhelmed by the magicks swirling through each individual. Still, her curiosity about the things being displayed at each stand will not be denied.