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all color, and she was clothed in a gown as pale as a winter’s moon.
    “Greetings,” Uncle Griffinskitch said with a slight bow. “What has brought you to the garden, Elder Woodsong?”
    “The lovely morning,” Winter replied. “After such a wretched night in the stars, I thought I would leave Enid to her breakfast and come here to meditate.”
    “With all these silly songs?” Kendra asked, even as the flowers belted out another chorus.
    “Some say to hear the sound of a songbell is to soothe the soul,” Winter explained. “But I’m afraid they take great glee in teasing your uncle. They don’t like the way he treated the Een who first planted this garden.”
    “Who was that?” Kendra asked.
    “Why, Krimson Kandlestar, your own father of course,” Winter explained. “Did your uncle never tell you?”
    Kendra cast Uncle Griffinskitch a curious look, her mind instantly filled with questions. But before she could ask any of them, Winter said, “Come with me, my friends, and we shall sit in the garden. The flowers shall turn to more tranquil songs at my request.”
    Without waiting for a response, the old sorceress turned and led them through the gate and into the Rainmaker’s Rhapsody. She sang a little tune of her own, and immediately the songbells ceased their limericks and began humming a gentle melody; Kendra immediately felt the mood shift in the garden, and her own heart felt peaceful.
    Before long, Winter came to a stop in what seemed to be the very center of the garden. Here stood a large stone statue of an Een man with long braids. This was none other than Leemus Longbraids, one of the founders of the land of Een (Kendra recognized him from the pictures in her history books). The statue of Leemus stood bold and dignified, with one hand outstretched to hold a perfectly round stone. This stone, Kendra knew, was meant to symbolize the magic orb, one of the Elders’ most magical items.
    “We have many words to exchange, old friend,” Winter said, casting a meaningful look at Uncle Griffinskitch.
    “Aye,” the wizard responded. “But there are ears everywhere. Perhaps this garden is not the—ahem—best place for us to confer.”
    “Do not worry,” Winter declared. “The songbells will stand guard for us, if only one knows how to ask.” With this said, the old sorceress closed her eyes, raised her hands, and chanted to the garden:

    Sing to the wind, dear flowers, and be not brief;
    Yet, if some soul this way comes, harboring grief—
    Then hush your petals, tremble not a leaf,
    And I may be warned of my whisper’s thief.
     

    When she had completed her incantation, Winter opened her eyes and smiled. “Now we may speak freely. Come, I will take my favorite seat in the garden.” She hobbled over to a small toadstool that was growing in the shade beneath the outstretched arm of the stone statue. “Many an hour have I idled here in the shadow of old Leemus Longbraids,” Winter remarked. “I like to think I can feel his ancient wisdom. Now, let us speak of last night. I trust you witnessed the storm in the stars?”
    “Aye,” Uncle Griffinskitch said with a stroke of his beard. “I fear trouble is stirring. Surely, the stars are telling us that something has been destroyed or lost out there in the world beyond the magic curtain.”

    Winter nodded in agreement. “I believe there are those who would retrieve this lost thing. But they are not working together; indeed, they are making war!” Winter paused for a moment and turned to look intently upon Kendra. “I cannot help but think, child, that your actions may have something do with this.”
    “Me!” Kendra cried, tugging one of her braids. “What did I do?”
    “Nothing at all,” Winter replied impishly, “except cross into the forbidden Greeven Wastes and destroy the Door to Unger, a most sacred place to the monsters that skitter and crawl across the outside world.”
    “Do you think the Ungers are trying rebuild the door?”