The girl's smile warms, and her eyes crinkle with it. "The fauns never seem to grow parched," she says, a laugh running like rippling water beneath her words. "At times they forget others need more than wine and music and merriment."

In answer, she steps forward and reaches her hands to take Susan's. Despite the light clinging to her skin, her fingers are warm, and so are her lips as she leans forward to press a light kiss first on one of Susan's cheeks, then the other. Her hair smells of starlight and soft night breezes. "Well-met," she agrees, leaning back again. "Susan, Daughter of Eve. Liliandil is the name they called me, here in these lands."