As the four people crossed the ground before her cottage, the dream-reader lowered her head so her hood might keep her wrinkled face in shadow. She spread her arms. Wind caught the edges of her sleeves, drawing them from wrists thin as broom handles. Affectations were unnecessary before the sorceress, Silme, but the dream-reader assumed her position from decades of habit.

"Good day," called Silme a bit too loudly, as if the dream-reader's failing vision might affect her ears as well.

"Good morning, Lady Silme." The dream-reader bobbed her head once at the sorceress and again for Gaelinar. "Kensei." She waited patiently for Silme's introduction of the strangers.

"Lord Allerum and Brendor the:"

"Apprentice," Brendor interrupted in an excited squeak. "Silme's going to teach me my shave spell!"

Unable to discern expressions from her patrons' blurred faces, the dream-reader watched Silme's life aura for clues to her disposition. Now, the edges tinged pink with annoyance. Beside high rank Dragonschool, the reader's own aura seemed faded as the old cloak across her shoulders. "Have you come to visit an aging woman or for business?" asked the dream-reader, hoping for the latter. It was common knowledge Silme consorted with gods. Only desperation would drive Dragon-rank to the lowly magics of a dream-reader. And desperation had its price.

"Business." Silme stroked the shaft of her staff thoughtfully. "Lord Allerum has a dream for your interpretation."

The dream-reader took one step forward and peered at Larson through slitted eyes. Closer, she recognized the small frame and angularity of an elf. But his long fingers balled nervously against the side of his breeches in a gesture uncharacteristic for a creature of faery. "I should gladly serve you, mistress." The dream-reader stepped around Larson. "In exchange, surely you have the power to cure an old woman's affliction." She pressed forward, giving Silme the full effect of her clouded stare.