Sylve had been the one to bring it to her, telling her that everyone thought it ridiculous that she went clad in leaking boots and a ragged cloak while they walked in warmth and finery. ‘But … I am not a true Elderling like the rest of you,’ she had said. It was as close as she had come to admitting to anyone how much of an outsider she had become. Sylve had scowled, her scaled brow wrinkling, first in puzzlement and then in annoyance. ‘Rapskal,’ she sighed in disgust. ‘Think of all the peculiar things that boy says, and then tell me why any of them should be taken seriously. Not an Elderling
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