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The girl stood in the centre of the Great Hall. The sun through the coloured window glass slanted across her hair and face in red and blue bars. Her crimson gown was right for 13 winters but she was smaller, making her gown look too big. By her height you would have called her ten winters only.

She must have heard my robe rustle over the stone floor but she never looked up. ‘Flor,’ I thought. ‘Yes’, came the response in my mind, like the rustling of a baby bird’s wing in the nest. ‘Flor,’ I thought again, ‘you are welcome to the Hall of Women.’ ‘I am pleased to serve here,’ came the baby bird response.

Her hair was fine, the colour of wet straw and had been cut off at her chin where it stuck out at odd angles in shock at the blade’s cruel passing. Her face was pale and pinched, the skin under her eyes dark with tiredness. I knew how far she had travelled and her exhaustion at riding over our rough landscape was unsurprising.

She must have been cold in the hall though her gown was heavy and rich, a better quality than I had ever seen. The green and russet fur at her neck and cuffs was rarely seen these days and must have been expensive.

‘You know why you are here,’ I thought. ‘Yes,’ came the rustle of bird down. ‘Flor, welcome,’ I said aloud as I walked across the hall to where she stood, my voice echoing off the walls as if exploring this curious new space.

Flor continued to look at the ground but I knew she saw me. I felt the fingers of her looking caress my face, my hair, my clothes. Her looking was gentle and tentative but grew bolder as I maintained my stillness. Finally it found the tassels on my shoes and picked at them like a toddling baby. There was no sound but I felt her rustling voice: ‘They’re pretty.’

I was aware of Mother Ahan’s approach. She must have been wakened by the sound of Flor’s carriage in the stone passageway. It was still early morning and only the fire bringers were about. Flor and I both knew Mother was coming to the Great Hall before she appeared in the doorway.

I could feel Flor’s alarm even though she tried hard to cover it. Little wispy fingers of fear crept up around the dark heavy mat she had draped over her feelings. Mother sensed it too, but covered her own feelings with the lightest pale gauze so that nothing showed.

Mother spoke aloud, a sound I had never heard before. ‘Flor, we are pleased to receive the child of Lord Bront. I hope your father is well?’ Her voice was the palest of yellow, but carried well and found its way even up into the high rafters. Flor gave no reply. I thought to her, ‘Don’t be afraid,’ as I sent her a warming wind to give some comfort in the cold hall but I was met by smooth cold stone, where there had previously been a live rustling little feathered bird.

I felt Mother’s gaze on me though she did not turn her head. In my mind I heard her high, thin voice, ‘Show Flor to her room, you will soon help her become calm.’ She said aloud, ‘You two girls should spend the day together. Come up to my Small Chamber at sunset - and Flor, I will expect you to tell me your first impressions of the Hall of Women.’ We had been dismissed.