a pumpkin vine.
"And now, please join us for our evening meal."
We sat at a table with twelve elves, who knew only a little Kyrrian. But with my bit of Elfian and gestures and laughter, we cobbled together a language understood by all.
Their supper was more drink than meal. The appetizer was lemon parsnip soup, followed by turtle barley soup (the main course), succeeded by a soup of chopped raw green vegetables (the salad course). Dessert was a fruit soup.
It was all delicious, even though my jaw wished for something to chew on.
When we finished eating, Slannen said that elves liked to sleep soon after nightfall. He led me to my sleeping place.
We passed the elves' nursery, where clusters of small hammocks hung from trees like bunches of grapes. Two adult elves, one with a flute and one singing, threaded their way through, the singer occasionally rocking a group of hammocks gently.
When we reached the oak from which my hammock hung, I asked for a lantern to read by.
"What book is better than sleep when the sun goes down?" Slannen asked, calling for a light.
I had been afraid to show Mandy's present to anyone since Hattie had taken Mother's necklace. But now I produced it from my carpetbag.
Slannen opened it. "The Shoemaker and the Elves" returned as the first story.
He roared with laughter. "We're so tiny in here! The elves can fit inside a shoe!"
He looked through the rest of the book, admiring the illustrations and reading parts of different stories. Then he turned back to "The Shoemaker and the Elves," but it was gone. In its place was a story about a walrus and a camel.
"Fairy made!" he cried. "This is precious. It must give you much comfort." He returned it to me. "Do not read too late. You have a long journey tomorrow."
After two stories, I blew out my light. The night was clear. My ceiling was sky and an eyelash of a moon. By shifting from side to side, I made my hammock swing me into sleep.
In the morning, Slannen asked me to show my book to the other elves. To them, it was written in Elfian. They were enchanted and might have read all day, except that Slannen stopped them.
"You have given us much pleasure," he said. "And now we'd like to show you something wonderful too."
He lifted several packages onto the table he used to display goods for trading.
Then he began to remove their oak leaf wrappings.
"Are these by Agulen?" I asked when a bit of pottery emerged.
"You've heard of him," Slannen said, sounding pleased. "Yes, he made them."
A nut dish was unwrapped first. Modeled in the shape of a centaur, it rested on the table, but was in motion nonetheless. More than in motion -- the centaur was motion. His head thrust into the wind; his arms hugged his form; his mane and tail streamed back; and, without moving -- such was Agulen's skill -- his legs beat the ground.
Next came a dragon-shaped coal scuttle that glowed gold and orange.
Somehow, the air shimmered around its foot-long flame. Its ruby eyes were windows to an interior furnace. I was afraid to touch the beast for fear of being scorched.
But my favorite was a stirrup cup molded in the shape of a wolf's head and shoulders, with the head lifted and the mouth pulled into an O for a long howl.
The ridges in the pottery for his fur were so fine that each hair was defined. I felt the tension in his shoulders where the cup ended, and I imagined the rest of him, sitting, but erect, with excitement running through him from his big paws to the end of his plumy tail.
I loved his howl, which I could both hear and feel: long and plaintive, woebegone and heartsore, filled with yearning for what used to be and for what would never come again.
"He's beautiful. They're all beautiful. They don't look as though someone made them. They look born."
Slannen began to wrap the pieces up again. I hated to let them go.
"Wrap this one last, please." I touched the wolf's nose.
When he finished, Slannen handed the package with the wolf to me. "It's for you."
Father had made clear that an Agulen was worth a great deal. "I can't accept such a valuable gift," I said in my best Manners Mistress manner. But my hands closed around it.
"You have," Slannen said, smiling. "We like to give our best pieces away sometimes, when we find people who love them."
"Thank