Her cooking fire would soon be out. Hilendra watched its thin banner of smoke curl up through the vent-hole in the center of the cottage's roof. As much as she hated to see a fire die, she didn't need one tonight. The air was warm and humid.

She realized how tired she was. The meeting with Elswin and Purnab had resulted in some vigorous sexual activity and her conversation and consultation with Pidor had given rise to a spate of nagging thoughts. Until dusk, she'd helped tend to the Cauldron's communal gardens and livestock. Now, with dinner made and eaten, Hilendra wanted nothing more than to sleep.

She donned her nightdress and lay on the straw bed covered with a goose-down mattress. The wool blankets were unnecessary tonight. Reclining on her right side, she gazed into the shallow pan of clean water she always kept beside the door. According to ancient wisdom this was a welcoming gesture-both for animals, which the Strange People deeply respected, and for spirit beings. In fact it was said the latter sometimes showed themselves there.

The parade of cups on Pidor's tarot cards marched through her mind.

Was it a spirit man who was trying to contact her? Hilendra began to remember the hazy details of his face, but she pushed the image away. She didn't want her mind tricking her into believing she actually saw that face in the water. Rolling onto her back, she briefly covered her eyes.

"I don't want to see you if you're not really here," she whispered.

When she looked into the pan again, she saw only the reflected light from her sputtering fire. After she'd stared at it for a while, her head sank onto the pillow and her heavy eyelids lowered.

The dream started with a distant thrumming sound that grew ever closer. An owl, Hilendra thought drowsily, imagining the large bird sailing through the darkness of the valley. Owls were a common sight in the Cauldron of Keridwen. But the beating of its wings stopped and a faint, brittle voice sounded.

"My son, my son…oh, my son," it said with sadness.

Awakening, Hilendra struggled to open her eyes. She finally did, or thought she did, and saw Bronwil's face, dry and creased as old leather, hovering over the vent-hole in the roof.

"My son," she breathed one last time…and her face faded into the black sky.

Just as Hilendra began sinking back into the depths of sleep, she saw a slight movement beside her mattress. Her first, quite fanciful thought was that some image had arisen from the pan of water and now loomed over her. She tried fixing her sight on it.

On him.

The man was tall. His lean, unclothed body seemed to waver into and out of the realm of flesh and bone. As Hilendra stared, hoping to identify him, she felt as if she were straining to see through heavy fog. She must be dreaming. Her gaze swept from his head to the floor and back again, but not all parts of his form were visible at once. She focused on his face. The longer she looked the more detail it assumed.