Tobias closes his eyes. The wind answers at once, rushing up from every direction, filling his ears with a sound like a hundred voices calling across great distances — some frightened, some laughing, some sweet as summer rain. He feels a tiny pressure on his wrist: the fairy, one small hand resting there for just a moment, and then the peak is gone and there is only cold starlight and the rushing dark. He lands softly. The ground beneath him is warm cobblestone, sun-warmed even in the night, and when he opens his eyes he finds himself in a courtyard strung with iron lanterns. A heavy wooden door stands ajar in a crumbling stone wall, and from somewhere beyond it comes the smell of fresh bread and the low murmur of many voices. The fairy is nowhere to be seen.