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Customs Street came the two horses and the caravan wagon. The lion woman was perched on the driver’s seat.
    “Lift?” she said, while the horses stopped.
    I hesitated. I almost thanked her and said no. It was different, and nothing different ever happened, so I didn’t know how to do it. And I was not easy with strangers. I was not easy with people. But the day was blessed, and to turn away blessing is to do ill. I thanked her and climbed up onto the seat beside her.
    It seemed very high.
    “Where to?”
    I pointed up West Street.
    She seemed to do nothing, not shaking the reins or clucking her tongue as I had seen drivers do, but the horses set right off. The taller horse was a fine red-brown color, almost as red as the cover of Rostan, and the smaller one was bright brown with black legs and mane and tail and a bit of a white star on her forehead. They were bigger than the Ald horses, and more peaceable-looking. Their ears went back and forth, listening constantly; it was pleasant to watch that.
    We went along some blocks without speaking. It was interesting to look down the canals, to see the bridges, the facades and windows of buildings from this height, and people walking along, the way people on horseback see them, looking down on them. I found it made me feel superior.
    “The lion is—back there—in the wagon?” I asked at last.
    “Halflion,” she said.
    “From the Asudar desert!” When she said the word “halflion,” I remembered it and the picture from the Great History.
    “Right,” she said, with a glance at me. “That’s probably why it spooked the mare. She knew what it was.”
    “But you aren’t an Ald,” I said, suddenly fearing she was, even though she was dark-skinned and dark-eyed and couldn’t be.
    “I’m from the Uplands.”
    “In the far north!” I said, and then could have bitten my tongue in half.
    She glanced at me sidelong and I waited for her to accuse me of reading books. But that was not what she had noticed.
    “You aren’t a boy,” she said. “Oh, I am stupid.”
    “No, I dress like a boy, because…” I stopped.
    She nodded, meaning no need to explain.
    “So how did you learn to handle horses?” she asked.
    “I didn’t. I never touched a horse before.”
    She whistled. She had a little, sweet whistle, like a small bird. “Well, then you have the knack, or the luck!”
    Her smile was so pleasant I wanted to tell her that it was the luck, that Lero and Luck himself, the deaf god, were giving me a holy day, but I was afraid of saying too much.
    “I thought you’d be able to take me to a good stable for these two, you see. I thought you were a stableboy. You were as quick and cool as any old hostler I ever saw.”
    “Well, the horse just came at me.”
    “It came to you,” she said.
    We clip-clop-rattled on for another block.
    “We have a stable,” I said.
    She laughed. “Aha!”
    “I’d have to ask.”
    “Of course.”
    “There aren’t any horses in it. Or feed, or anything. Not since—not for years. It’s clean, though. There’s some straw. For the cats.” Every time I opened my mouth I talked too much. I clenched my teeth.
    “You’re very kind. If it isn’t convenient, never mind. We can find a place. The fact is, the Gand has offered us the use of his stables. But I’d rather not be beholden to the Gand.” And she shot me a glance.
    I liked her. I’d liked her from the moment I saw her standing beside her lion. I liked the way she talked and what she said and everything about her.
    You must not refuse the blessing.
    I said, “My name is Decalo Galva’s daughter Memer of Galvamand.”
    She said, “My name is Gry Barre of Roddmant.”
    Having introduced ourselves we got shy, and went on to Galva Street in silence. “That’s the house,” I said.
    She said in a tone of awe, “It is a beautiful house.”
    Galvamand is very large and noble, with it’s wide courts and stone arches and high windows, but it’s half ruined too, so it