He stirs the stew and shakes his head. “A little while longer.” The boy looks at her again.

“What?”

“I don’t know if this helps, but your eyes are very uncommon. The green ring pronounces you Talamh, but the orange ring asserts your Tine lineage. Having two rings around your eyes is not impossible, but usually the two rings are complementary colors of the same elemental magick, like green and brown rings both belong to Talamh. It’s the first time I’ve seen eyes with rings from two different magicks. What magick do you use?” He looks at Croi expectantly.

Croi frowns, thinking. The only magick she can do right now is calling other people’s magick to herself. Does that even count as magick? But she gave her magick to the pixie who cast a spell with it. “Magick has its own language, right? You need to know the words?” She remembers Uaine breaking the summoning spell and the words she used.

The boy nods. “Observe.” He speaks a word and taps the ground. A blade of grass unfurls. “You try.”

Excited, Croi follows his steps. She speaks the same word he did and taps the ground in exactly the same way. Nothing happens. She tries again. The result is the same.

“Clearly I can’t do Talamh magick.” She lies back on the ground and contemplates the forest canopy. Not yet, anyway.

“Maybe you can do Tine magick, but unfortunately I can’t help with that.” The boy dusts his hands and goes to the pot simmering above the fire, opens the lid, and tastes the stew. Croi’s eyes widen, and her mouth waters. She sits up quickly. One more second and she’s sure she’ll drown in her own drool. “It’s done.”

All thoughts of magick are forgotten as the boy hands her a spoon while he uses the ladle he used to stir the stew. Croi’s too hungry to talk, so they eat in silence. For the first time in her life, she is too impatient to fully savor what she’s eating. The food is delicious: spicy, fragrant, and filling. It is gone too soon. At the end of the meal, they both drink long drafts of water.

“Is your name a secret?” the catkin asks after a while.

“I will tell you my name if you tell me yours,” she tells him.

“Caolan,” he says simply.

“Aren’t you scared I will try to take your name?” Croi remembers what it felt like when Uaine tried to steal her name and shudders.

“No. All kin have a name they use and another one they keep hidden. You don’t?” Croi’s face must give her away because he grimaces, an apologetic expression in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me your name.”

The catkin’s attitude softens considerably after he finds out that Croi has only one name.

“I’m looking for my brothers,” he says.

“Where have they gone?”

“Gone? They’re just kittens. They wouldn’t leave home by themselves.” He laughs. It’s an ugly sound. “They were taken by the Robber Queen’s soldiers. They’re being transported to dig for jewels in the mines the blue-horned fauns used to work at—before the disease killed them all.”