Once upon a time, the Mistress of the Isle of Sleep assigned bodyguards for each member of a group of Novus Mundians, one Gith bodyguard each. The Gith had no names, and were identified simply by the person for which they were assigned.

This is a Swefen, a significant Dream, sent to Tanri Silverharp, by the Gith servant identifvied as For-Tanri.

-Threnody

For-Tanri stands on a winter hillside watching dozens of workers walk about in the snowy field below. The grey sky glows in all places equally. Trees border her world, a leafy horizon at ten miles in all directions, but between For-Tanri and the trees, there is only snow and the workmen below.

A wooden stick has been driven into the ground at her side. It sticks up six inches above the snow, perhaps two feet in total length, top nearly at eye level. From its tip, pieces of brown twine have been strung, leading off, arrow straight in eight directions.

More branches support the string every fifteen paces. A bow shot away, For-Tanri sees cross-strings, concentric circles such that no area within a hundred yards is more than fifteen paces from a post. The eight radial strings continue to perhaps a thousand yards, with too many circle strings to count. For-Tanri stands at the center, as if a spider at home.

If For-Tanri is the spider, then her flies are tightly bundled men and women, all walking the strings. They carry bags and sacks, from which they produce pink stones, rock after rock, only to place each stone at the base of each wooden post with gloved hands. They are fur clad farmers patiently walking the rows, sowing fist-sized seeds.

A man lightly bundled in white sits in a cart full of pink stones. His oxen are surprisingly calm, and show no signs of restlessness or cold. Workers replenishing their sacs are not enduring the cold well as the cart driver and his animals. The chatter and blow on their hands as they gather at the cart to refill their bags of stone.

"Why do your minstrels they work so hard for something they will never hear?" says a woman from behind For-Tanri. She turns and looks up at the speaker, a well bundled woman who's face cannot be seen through the thick black hair blowing free of her hood. "None of them are full-blooded Lios Elfar."

"Enroth is. Art beckons art," says a familiar voice. For-Tanri glances up her right arm to Sonson's face, uncovered and chapped red in the winds. Sonson holds For-Tanri's wool-mittened hand in his bare fingers. He stands between Rave and For-Tanri on the low hilltop.

Sonson continues, looking neither to For-Tanri nor the woman. "You have never known art, Rave. Oh, you know what it does to people. You've seen what it can make men do, and you have used its power in your schemes, but you have never understood. You never feel movement in your breast that isn't caused by a man's hand." He turns from the workers to face the woman. "You won't begin to understand this now, so why bother to explain?"

"You have paid much for this to happen. Your mother wasn't happy to dismantle the Amphitheatre." Rave says. "She almost wished you didn't come home, to grant you such a request."

"It's only the top row. We'll put the stones back after. Besides, mother was plenty happy to see me." Sonson suddenly claps his free right hand to his forehead. "But I forget! You knew that. I saw how much she paid you."

"Don't be bitter. You knew SOMEONE would collect the rewards. Better Mervin and me than someone who would get you Born Again. You made it too easy. I hear Mervin took you to see that Kooter woman sing--"

"Mahliya Kutura," says Sonson dryly. "Yes, Mervin's betrayal wasn't without a kiss."

"Would he kiss ME then! I know men who killed to hear your Kooter woman sing. You heard her entire "Street Songs" in order! Mervin says afterwards he took you backstage to meet her." Rave's voice seems oddly pathetic to For-Tanri. "Is it so hard for you to see your mother that you would begrudge your best friends such a betrayal?" Sonson's grip on Tanri's mitten loosens and tightens twice but he doesn't reply.

Seconds turn to minutes. The workers continue, the winds blow, but the hilltop is entirely still. Into the windy silence, Rave says, "How do these stones work anyway?"

"They say, 'There are no bad seats in the Amphitheatre.' Have you ever seen dominoes in a line topple into their neighbors?" Sonson turned and waited for Rave to nod before continuing. "What one stone hears is sent to the next, as if each note and every word is a domino catapulting its neighbor outward. If this works the way I think, an elfar camped a hundred yards out will hear Tanri sing as if sitting beneath her." Sonson looks down at For-Tanri and sticks out his tongue. For-Tanri smiles back at him. "When the lios assemble, no one will be deaf."

"But why do you do this for a song you are forbidden to hear? Why do you demolish a ruin that's endured from the Cycle of Comedy? Have you somehow become fully lios elfar while I was away?"

"Knowing all the elves of light can hear Tanri, it will be as a pretty song for me. This is enough." He puts his hand on Rave's shoulder and turns the opening of her hood to face him. "It is enough. You know I rarely charge gold for my services. Somethings are better."

"You are ever the fool," says Rave, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Then you are Fool's Gold." he says, putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her tight.

For-Tanri releases his hand, and she departs that place in that time.