“What does your name mean in the Old Speech of the Nac Mac Feegle, Tiffany? Think . . .” It rose from the depths of her mind, trailing the fog behind it. It came up through the clamoring voices and lifted her beyond the reach of ghostly hands. Ahead, the clouds parted. “My name is Land Under Wave,” said Tiffany, and slumped forward. “No, no, none of that, we can’t have that,” said the figure holding her.
