"I'm Ffion, by the way," Ffion says belatedly. "Thank you for, um, whatever that was." "Inric." "How did you do it? I didn't see a ritual or anything." "It is a different kind of magic." He sits down on the tree trunk, some distance away from her. Every word is pronounced carefully, as though he's running them through an internal check, and she reminds herself again to speak more slowly. "And you can go anywhere?" "If I know a place, I can go there." "Ah," she grins, "so it has to be the teahouse, then." It was meant as a joke, but he answers seriously. "Or the Wizards' Guild Hall." "Oh, is that where you went? Did you get in this time?" "Yes." He looks away, a small smile on his face. But Ffion isn't paying attention, because she's just had an idea. "So, um, how well do you need to know a place to go there?"