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be cheeky, Elian. You’re not improving your position with your disrespect.’ Megan stirred again. Raim’s hands automatically began to stroke her cheek and
comb her hair with his fingers. ‘Go and fetch some water for your mother. No doubt she’ll need something stronger when you tell your story later, but water would be good for now.’
Raim looked up at the crowd, ogling from the bottom of his small garden. Virtually everyone in the village was there now. ‘Please go home, everyone,’ he said, projecting his voice
without shouting. ‘I’d like to talk to all the menfolk later at the meeting house, but for now, please leave us to our family business.’
    An excited buzz of muttering swept through the previously silent crowd as they started to disperse to their houses. A small number of children remained to watch the dragon, but most were called
away by concerned parents. Elian was suitably contrite when he returned with the water.
    ‘The beast . . . Is it gone? Was it real?’ Megan muttered, as she began to surface again from her fainting spell.
    ‘Hush now, Megan. Everything is fine. Here – sip this water. It’ll help. That’s right. Now, let’s get you inside and I’ll have Elian fetch you a nice hot cup
of spiced wine. You’ll feel much better with a warm drink inside you.’
    ‘Yes. Yes, that would be nice. I had the most horrible waking dream, Raim. I could have sworn I saw a dragon.’
    ‘You—’ Elian began.
    ‘Elian! Help me lift your mother inside, would you?’ Raim barked. His interruption was sharp, but his voice was not unkind. ‘Careful now! I think she might have some bruising
from her fall.’
    Elian bit his lip as he lent his strength to help lift his mother. She was not heavy, being of slight build and half a hand shorter than her son. Between them, they lifted her easily and carried
her through to the small living area to the right of the front door. Once sitting in her favourite chair, Megan regained some of her normal colour.
    ‘Heat some wine, would you please, Elian?’ asked his father. ‘Use the spices in the upper cupboard to flavour it; they’re fresher. A sharp taste would be best. I’ll
have a cup too, as you’re preparing it.’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    Elian did as he was bid. He went to the kitchen, poured some wine from a skin into a small pot and hung it over the fire. He was careful to hang it on one of the higher hooks to avoid scorching
the pan. The wine was best warm, rather than boiling. He had not tried to get anything down from the top cupboard for some months. To his surprise, the fresh spices were well within his reach. He
added some of them to the pot and returned the rest to the cupboard.
    The smell of the warming wine brought memories of good times. Spiced wine was a luxury saved for special occasions, such as midwinter feast days, summer festivals and naming days. These were
good days, filled with laughter, smiles and fine food. This was a good day, too, but Elian doubted his parents were about to celebrate his change of status. The next few hours would be
difficult.
    ‘It would be best to break the news to them quickly that you will be leaving, Elian. We cannot linger here for long.’
    Aurora’s voice in his mind felt more normal each time she spoke to him. What was most strange was the setting. The kitchen had been the centre of his life until now. True, he had a tiny
cubicle of a room that was his private space, but life in the cottage revolved around the kitchen. There was always something to be done.
    Life in a rural household on the high plain was simple. Food was life. Whether it was being prepared for eating, storage, or to use as barter for other necessities, it was always at the centre
of the day’s activities. What people did not grow, raise, catch, or hunt was bought by exchange at the local market, or from travelling tinkers. Nothing was wasted. Nothing was useless.
    The kitchen was orderly and functional. Knives,