‘Perhaps,’ Ehlana conceded, ‘but she even seems to smell like Danae, and they both seem to be very fond of kisses.’ She paused, and then her face brightened. ‘We really should introduce them to each other, Sparhawk. They’d love each other, and they’d be wonderful playmates.’

Sparhawk nearly choked on that idea.

The rhythm of the hoof-beats was familiar, and it was that more than anything which awakened Sparhawk early the next morning. He muttered an oath and swung his legs out of the bed.

‘What is it, dear?’ Ehlana asked in a sleepy voice.

‘Faran got loose,’ he said in an irritated tone. ‘He managed to pull his picket-line free somehow.’

‘He won’t run away, will he?’

‘And miss all the entertainment staying just out of my reach all morning will give him? Of course not.’ Sparhawk pulled on a robe and went to the window. It was only then that he heard the sound of Flute’s pipes.

The sky over this mysterious valley was overcast, as it had been all winter. Dirty-looking clouds, chill and unpromising, stretched from horizon to horizon, hurried along by a blustery wind.

There was a broad meadow not far from the house, and Faran was cantering easily in a wide circular course around the meadow. He wore no saddle nor bridle, and there was something almost joyful in his stride. Flute lay face up on his back with her pipes to her lips. Her head was nestled comfortably on his surging front shoulders, her knees were crossed, and she was beating time on the big roan’s rump with one little foot. The scene was so familiar that all Sparhawk could do was stare.

‘Ehlana,’ he said finally, ‘I think you might want to see this.’

She came to the window. ‘What on earth is she doing?’ she exclaimed. ‘Go and stop her, Sparhawk. She’ll fall off and get hurt.’

‘No, actually she won’t. She and Faran have played together like this before. He won’t let her fall off – even if she could.’

‘What are they doing?’

‘I have no idea,’ he admitted, although that was not entirely true. ‘I think it’s significant, though,’ he added. He leaned out of the window and looked first to the left and then to the right. The others were all at the windows, their faces filled with surprise as they watched their little hostess.

The blustery wind faltered, then died as Flute continued her song, and the winter-brown grass in the dooryard ceased its dead rattling.

The trilling song of the Child-Goddess rose into the sky as Faran continued to tirelessly circle the meadow, and as she played, the dirty-looking murk overhead opened and rolled back almost as a bolster is turned back on a bed, and a deep blue sky dotted with fluffy, sunrise-touched clouds appeared.