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Updated: May 16, 2025
And the Unadilla made a clatter over its stones like the False-Faces rattling their wooden masks. "Eheu!" sighed the pines above us as we sped on; and ever I thought of Okwencha and the Dead Hunter. And the upward roar of a partridge covey bursting in thunder through the river willows was like the flight of the hideous Flying Heads.
"To no fairy finish," I said, "but in sober reality." She looked at Lana, laughing: "What a lad is this, dear! How can a fairy tale be ever real? Yet, he is a magician like Okwencha, this tall young Ensign of mine, and I make no doubt that his wizardry can change fancy to fact in the twinkling of an eye. Indeed, I think I, too, am something of a witch. Shall I make magic for you, Euan?
The first, a tawny, slender, mocking thing, flung wide her arms. "Look, Sorceress! I dreamed of a felled sapling and a wolverine! What means my dream?" And the slim, white figure, head bowed in her dark hair, answered quietly: "O dancer of the Na-usin, who wears okwencha at the Onon-hou-aroria, yet is no Seneca, the felled sapling is thou thyself.
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