There he was, sitting on top of a small mound. A little old man with a lot of grey hair, it seemed, and a beard, although Zayden could never be quite sure as he appeared to be changing shape as he looked at him, just as if he were coming and going.
“Welcome, Prince!” he said in a deep voice, far too deep, Zayden thought, for someone of that size. “Thank you for dropping in on us!”
“A pleasure, sir,” said Zayden. “But … but what on earth is happening?” He stared round as the wooded hill appeared to grow a roof from the trees around it and before he knew it, they were in what appeared to be a tall, narrow building with sunlight streaming in from a window in the ceiling.
“Do sit down,” said the old man, “you must be thirsty after your long chase. Here, have this.” He produced a goblet from
