And the air sang with the flocks of birds heading south for the winter.

In fact, the night before had started warm, but True had risen in the middle of it from the bed we shared at the inn where we’d stayed. He did this in order to close the window he’d left open after the chill set in.

But before he closed it, I’d heard the hoots of owls.

Thus, I hoped I’d see an owl. They’d fascinated me from the very first drawing I’d seen of one.

It was known Wodell was full of magic and I wondered if all of this was what people meant when they spoke of it.

But I had seen the shimmering dust of a pixie’s flight.

And True had pointed out a fairy with leaves tangled artfully in her hair, a garland of them adorning the waist and wide skirts of her gown, her gossamer wings fluttering behind her. She was leading a lost fawn—who was only perhaps a few inches shorter than her—back to its mother.

So there was even more magic to this bountiful, beautiful land.

Indeed, True had told me not half an hour before that we neared The Doors so I hoped soon to see gnomes.

My mother, like many Firenz, was not admiring of anything Dellish (save its wool).

But I could not help but think she would have adored this journey through this land so very different from our own, for it was impossible not to fall in love with it.

I wished to be looking forward to The Doors and meeting gnomes, as I had all the many things True told me he wanted to show me.

But I was not looking forward to this.

For it had dawned on me, as Wallace and Luther bickered about hijinks they’d participated in, all the stories all the men spoke about of women they’d pursued (sometimes the same one at the same time), follies they’d attempted, evenings of inebriation, song, fisticuffs and games of chance they’d had…

True had not been among them.

They were his men and they were not hiding from me True’s participation in these shenanigans for fear of what I might think.

I could tell by the smile on True’s face that it was grounded in gladness his men had these adventures, not nostalgia at memories of times shared.

I twisted on my steed to look back at Alfie, who was riding at our rear.

He caught my gaze and his head tipped to the side in inquiry.

I could not ask, not then, of course, maybe not ever. It would not be right to speak of True behind his back. Especially with one of his men.

I turned forward and again gave my attention to True.

“Did you ever try to ride a greased pig?” I asked after what Wallace and Luther were squabbling about.

He smiled at me. “No.”

“Even as a child?” I pressed hopefully.

He shook his head.