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That's me； he thought。 That's what I'll be like as far as these Sithi…folk are concerned。 I'll be around for a little while； then before they even realize I'm getting old； I'll be dead。 The thought brought a lump of terror into his throat。 Suddenly； he wanted nothing more than to be around his own short…lived kind…even Rachel the Dragon…rather than these soft…spoken； cat…eyed immortals。
Filled with restlessness； he sprang up from the riverbank； kicking his way through the reeds as he pushed back toward the path。 He almost bumped into someone： a Sitha…man； dressed only m a pair of thin； loose… fitting blue breeches； who stood in the undergrowth and gazed out toward the river。 For a moment； Simon thought this stranger had been spying on him； but the fine…boned face showed no expression at Simon's approach。 The Sitha continued to stare out past him as the youth walked by。 The stranger was singing quietly to himself； a breathy melody of sibilances and pauses。 His attention was fixed on a tree growing out of the riverbank； half…submerged in the current。
Simon could not restrain a grunt of irritation。 What was wrong with these people？ They wandered around like sleepwalkers； said things that made no sense…even Jiriki sometimes talked mysterious； circular nonsense； and the prince was by far the most direct of this tribe…and they all looked at Simon as though he were an insect。 When they bothered to notice him at all。
Several times Simon had encountered Sithi who he was certain were Ki'ushapo and Syandi； the pair who had acpanied Jiriki and Simon's pany north from the Aldheorte to the base of Urmsheim； but the Sithi showed no recognition； made no sign of greeting。 Simon could not swear beyond any doubt that the faces were theirs； but something in the way they steadfastly avoided his eye assured him that he was correct。
After the joumey across the northern waste； both Jiriki's kinsman An'nai and the Erkynlandish soldier Grimmric had died on the dragon…mountain Urmsheim； beneath the icy waterfall known as the Uduntree。 They had been buried together； mortal and immortal； something which Jiriki had said was unprecedented； a binding between their two races unknown for centunes。 Now Simon； a mortal； had e to forbidden Jao e…Tinukai'i。
Ki'ushapo and Sijandi might not approve of his being here； but they knew he had saved their prince Jiriki； and they knew Simon was Hikka Staja； an Arrow…Bearer…so why should they avoid him so pletely？ If Simon was wrong in his identification； it should still be simple enough for the real pair to seek him out； since he was the only one of his kind among their folk。 Were they so angry at his being here that they could not even greet him？ Were they in some way embarrassed for Jiriki； that the prince should have brought such a creature to their secret valley？ Then why did they not say so； or say something？ At least Jiriki's uncle Khendraja'aro made his dislike of mortals plain and public。
Thinking of these slights put Simon in a foul humor。 He muddled his way up the stream bank； fuming。 It took all his restraint not to turn back to the river…watching Sitha and shove his handsome； alien face into the mud。
Simon struck out across the valley； not with any idea of escape this time； but rather to walk off some of his restless irritation。 His stiff…legged strides carried him past several more Sithi。 Most walked by themselves； although a few strolled in unspeaking pairs。 Some looked at him with unblinking interest； others did not seem to notice him at all。 One group of four sat quietly listening to the singing of a fifth； their eyes intent on the delicate gliding movements of the singer's hands。
Merciful Aedon； he grumbled to himself； what are they thinking about all the time？ They're worse than Doctor Morgenes！ Although the doctor； too； had been prone to long silences； unbroken but for his distracted； tuneless humming； at least at the end of a day he would unstop a jug of beer and teach Simon some history； or make suggestions about his apprentice's rather blobby handwriting。
Simon kicked a fir cone and watched it roll。 He did have to admit that the Sithi were beautiful。 Their grace； the flowing line of their garments； their serene faces； all made him feel like some mud…covered mongrel bumping against the table linens of a great lord's house。 Though his captivity infuriated him； sometimes a cruel inner voice whispered that it was only justice。 He had no right to be in this place； and having e； an urchin like Simon should never be allowed to return and sully the immortals with his tales。 Like Jack Mundwode's man Osgal in the story； he had gone down into a fairy…mound。 The world could never be the same。
Simon's pace slowed from an angry march to a slouch。 Before long； he began to hear the steady ringing of water on stone。 He looked up from his grass…stained boots to discover that he had wandered right across the valley into the shade of the hills。 A stirring of hope made itself felt inside him。 He was near the Pools； as Aditu had called them； the Summer Gate stood nearby。 It seemed that by not thinking about finding his way out； he had been able to do what he had failed so miserably to acplish in days past。
Trying to imitate the degree of not…caring that had brought him this far； Simon wandered off the path； angling toward the sound of splashing water； staring up into the overarching trees with what he hoped was suitable nonchalance。 Within a few steps he had left the sunlight and entered the cool shadow of the hills； where he made his way up grass… tangled slopes carpeted in shy blue gilly…flowers and white starblooms。 As the song of falling water grew louder he had to restrain himself from breaking into a run； instead； he stopped to rest against a tree； precisely as if he were in the middle of a contemplative walk。 He stared at the stripes of sunshine lancing down through the leaves and listened to his own gradually slowing breath。 Then； just when he had nearly forgotten where he was going…did he only fancy that he could hear the rush of water suddenly increase？…he started up the hill once more。
As he reached the summit of this first slope； certain that he would see the bottommost of the Pools before him； he found himself standing instead on the rim of a circular valley。 The valley's upper slopes were covered by a host of white birch trees whose leaves were just now turning summer…yellow。 They rattled softly in the breeze； like bits of golden parchment。 Beyond the birches； the next level of the valley was thickly grown with silvery…leaved trees that trembled as the wind continued its sweep down toward the valley floor。
At the base of the circular valley； in the depths within the ring of silver leaves； lay a vegetative darkness that Simon's eyes could not pierce。 Whatever things grew there also took the wind in their turn： a sort of clattering whisper arose from the valley's shadowed deeps； a sound that might have been the scraping of breeze…blown leaves and branches； or just as easily the hiss of a thousand slim knives being drawn from a thousand delicate sheaths。
Simon let out his pent…up breath。 The scent of the valley rose up to him； musty and bitt