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For some time after Navira left, Tarkyn sat quietly, finishing off the tea in the pot, even though it had become over-stewed. He was just about to prepare for bed, when an image appeared in his mind of Lapping Water, Waterstone, Rainstorm and Autumn Leaves standing together beckoning him emphatically. Midnight was in Lapping Waters’ arms, with his head on her shoulder looking, just as Bean had said, like a stressed ghost. In that moment, the little boy must have tuned in to what the woodfolk around him were doing, because Tarkyn was assailed by a jumbled wave of confusion, fear and, threading through it all, longing.
Assuming that they had good reason, Tarkyn took no offence at their dictatorial style, merely sending an image of himself giving a tired smile and nodding.
He checked th
