Then she is lying on the creature’s back between the wings, wrapped in her fur cloak and gripping the feathers at the base of the neck. They are flying. A cold wind plucks at the cloak. She closes her eyes and hangs on.
The sensation changes and they are surrounded by tall buildings. Irenya recognises her birth-world. She feels the presence of the griffin. People scurry by, unaware, except for the woman who stands, frail and bent, her back to them. Her dress is shapeless and dirty, her hair unbrushed. She turns slowly, painfully. Irenya is unprepared for the ravaged face before her; it is her grandmother. The flesh is wasted and the eyes black with a despair Irenya cannot bear to see. She looks away. A thought comes into her head; not her thought—the creature’s. ‘You are a seer in both wo
