I can believe it: trees, singing. [ would be blasphemous to hope for a harp of weirwood? ah! a dream, alone. the scant bits of white-barked would to be found in these lands are not the precious weirwoods of her home. not aside from the holy trees asked for form the court of seelie. ] Wood. It must be wood.

And I know there are good craftsmen here in the Cothromach. Mayhaps we might meet at one of their stalls in the market. [ he can then see her considerable height (for her age) for himself. ]