She dreamed of fire, again. And she was being watched. She could feel it, and it wasn’t the goats this time. She was being watched inside her head. But it wasn’t bad watching; someone was caring for her. And in the dream the fire raged, and a dark figure pulled aside the flames as though they were curtains, and there was the hare sitting by the dark figure as if she was a pet. The hare caught Tiffany’s eye and jumped into the fire. And Tiffany knew. Somebody knocked at the door. Tiffany was suddenly awake. ‘Who’s there?’ A voice on the other side of the heavy door said, ‘What sound does forgetfulness make?’ She hardly had to think. ‘It’s the sound of the wind in dead grasses on a hot summer’s day.’ ‘Yes, I think that would about do it,’ said Preston’s voice from the other side of the door. ‘To get right to the point, miss, there’s a lot of people downstairs, miss. I think they need their witch.’ It was a good day for a funeral, Tiffany thought, looking out of the narrow castle window.
