And there was one who had no face at all, whose upraised hood was hollow as a cave, but for a single candle within. This one held the burning mask in pale hands, and called out the name of Tsarag Vin.
The boy stepped sideways, into a shop filled from floor to ceiling with wooden puppets, all of them intricately carven and painted, swaying on their strings in the draught as if alive.
They too called out the name of Tsarag Vin.
But Tsarag Vin was close to tears now. He wanted this dream to end. He wanted to go home. He pleaded. But the puppets laughed at him, and something huge and wooden rose from behind a counter within the shop and a painted face spoke, saying, “Tsarag Vin, this is your home now. You have no other.”
He screamed and ran out into the night, and all but collided with the
