Yoleth watched, silent as a stilled breeze. The Brurjan, with the short swift steps peculiar to her folk, led her horse into the Gate. She slowed suddenly as she entered it, encountering an invisible current. She plowed determinedly on. The red Gate framed them all: the Keeper, the Brurjan and her battlesteed, and, from the other side, a small boy. His pale hair was tousled, his eyes dreaming still. A short pale green garment left his arms and legs bare. His skin was a golden brown. His dream made him smile.

For two breaths all were framed there, limned against the redness. Then the Brurjan and her black horse went on, fading through the Gate, while the boy emerged, stepping suddenly from the redness into the dusky streets of Jojorum. He stumbled as he emerged, as if he had leaned against something, only to find it suddenly gone. As his hands met the dusty paving stones, the dream left his face.

He crouched bewilderedly, staring about the streets in confusion. 'Mother?' he called softly, 'Mother?' A note of panic entered his voice. 'I was following you as fast as I could. Don't go to the dancing withoutme! Mother?' The boy glanced back at the Gate, and then at the unfamiliar grey city walls that framed it. He stumbled to his feet. The City must have been foreign to him indeed, for he immediately went to the Gate.

'Did my mother come this way?' he asked of the Keeper. But the Keeper turned his squat back on the boy, crouching down in the red of the Gate. 'Mother!' the boy called again, and began to venture back through the Gate. It stopped him. Pressed against the wall, Yoleth could see no barrier to his passing, but his fists drummed against something like rain pattering on a stretched hide. It did not yield, even when he scrabbled at it with bent fingers. The Keeper did not stir. Perplexed, the boy looked around.

His eyes snagged on the Windsinger. Yoleth did not move nor speak. His eyes beseeched, but hers were stony. A moment longer he gazed into her granite eyes. Fear disfigured his face. 'Mother?' he called again, and began to trot off down the street. His small eyes was lined with worry. His fine hair floated on the dawn air as his head swiveled from side to side, seeking a familiar form.