Old, the Gatekeeper said to him. You are old. I feel you, a thousand years multiplied, by every leaf on every tree. Aye, he said. She had never seen such a smile. She did not want to use the word “seen.” It was ineffectual, demeaning to the experience. I know you, the Gatekeeper said. I know your name. Ean. She hesitated, grasping immediately that voicing his name was against the rules. Who is the woman? Not who, he said, and the brogue in his voice was rich and full, but what.
