“Do you know Mother Maples very well?” Snowpepper asked.

“Everybody knows Mother Maples!” Winkling raised her eyebrows at Snowpepper. “But, of course you are an othersider. I might have known. Othersiders have a… an odor.” Her delicate nose wrinkled.

“What! Do you mean I smell bad?” Snowpepper sniffed at herself, mortified. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…”

Winkling laughed. “Oh, it’s all right, please, it’s nothing you can help! It’s more of a feeling than a smell, actually. Don’t worry about it. All I mean is I should have known you were an othersider right away. But since you are one, it makes sense that you don’t know Mother Maples.”

“Tell me about her, would you?” Snowpepper asked humbly, still sniffing herself surreptitiously.

“She’s like a mother to us all, I suppose,” Winkling began. “Whenever anybody is in trouble, anywhere, all they need to do is call to her, and if they really require her help, they’ll find her. She’s always been here, even before the Queen, I think.”

“You talked about a direct way to get here. What’s that?”

“The inner way. That’s a portal you can step through to get to her house. The Queen uses one; you must have seen it when she gave you safe passage. It looks like a great oval mirror. Usually her messengers use the Queen’s portal to pass through to Mother Maples’ portal. I would have been sent that way, but…” she shrugged.

“I remember the Queen’s portal!” Snowpepper said. “She stepped into it and disappeared.”

“Thank you for sharing your information with Snowpepper, dear Winkling,” Quickfoot interrupted stiffly. He had been sitting off to the side since Winkling arrived, frowning slightly. “Still, dear faerie, you must have known I could answer these questions for you. I think that might have been best.”

“Oh, yeah, Quickfoot, I know,” Snowpepper assured him. “But I just thought of them when I was talking to Winkling, so I asked her. Isn’t that okay?”

“Yes, but…” he looked at Winkling. “It’s nothing personal, you understand, Winkling dear, but something feels wrong to me, and I fear it might be yourself. Please don’t be offended, but I think it best we not converse further until Mother Maples returns.”

“What? Quickfoot, goodness! That’s rude!” Snowpepper rebuked him. “Poor Winkling, she’s had a hard journey and I’m just trying to make conversation and help her to feel welcome, it’s polite, you know!”

“That’s all right, Snowpepper,” Winkling said, waving her hand in her direction. “I’m rather tired at the moment anyway. I believe I would like to take a nap.” Yawning, she wandered off a little way and curled up in the shade to sleep.

“What did you mean by that?” Snowpepper whispered. “Quickfoot, I don’t understand!”

“I’m not sure I can explain, dear little one,” Quickfoot said quietly. “And I am very sorry to have distressed you. But, you see, I was having a feeling I couldn’t deny. Ever since this faerie arrived, it’s been like an itch in my brain, a dreadfully uncomfortable sensation, and I can’t describe it better than that. But it doesn’t feel good or right to speak more with her until we find out from Mother Maples whether she can be trusted or not.”

“Why, she’s a perfectly nice faerie,” Snowpepper said. “She liked my wings! Look, do you see a pattern there—silver on silver, she said it was?”

“I’m sure there is one, dear Snowpepper, but frankly I’m too distracted at the moment to look.”

Disappointed, Snowpepper stood and floated listlessly around the walled-in garden. At length, she began to dance in the air, stretching her arms wide, then curling them around herself, bending her legs and twirling in an expressive free-form display of her emotions. Soon she felt better, and became caught up in her dance, rapt and transported.

Quickfoot watched until the graceful, spinning contortions grew too engaging for his state of mind. Then, he closed his eyes and withdrew to contemplate the itch in his brain.

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