A gentle knock on the door roused Alvar out of an early morning slumber. It was one of those dawns when your eyes opened on their own and you woke well-rested, despite the early hour.

Outside, it was still dark, and a sweet chill in the air foretold the approach of winter, though the leaves still held the red and gold of autumn.

Alvar opened the door to find Lars sitting on the porch. He was busy silently conversing with a firefly on his palm.

"Morning." Alvar sat down beside him with a yawn.

Lars watched the firefly take flight from his hand. "Go get ready," he said. "Today I'm going to take you somewhere special."

"Special?" All sleepiness fled Alvar in a moment.

The wizard nodded, but elaborated no more. Seeing Alvar hesitate, he added playfully, "well, if you've got work to do, that's fine."

No one had much to do on the last week-day. The shop would remain closed. And Alvar had already finished all there was to do, his plants were watered, the fences repainted, the washing done, the house neat and clean.

"How long would we be gone?" he asked, feeling a bubble of excitement in his stomach, already wondering what things he ought to pack.

"Half a day, at the most," said Lars.

Alvar's heart sank. "Oh."

"Just go and get dressed, will you?" Lars said again. "We'll have breakfast on the way."

Alvar went inside and put on his best shirt, tried to brush his hair but gave up halfway, and finished up the look by putting on Gran's old cloak that she used to wear on her mushroom hunts. It was a dark blue, embroidered with golden thread and it still had a wonderful foresty smell trapped in its folds.

Last but not the least, he remembered to prepare some sandwiches for Aunt Elena and left a note on the mantelpiece.

When he stepped out at last, huffing and puffing, the sky had begun to turn gold and birds sang from the trees.

"Took your sweet time getting ready, didn't you?" said Lars, looking him up and down with amused eyes. Then he beckoned him to follow.

The path they took was nothing special. It was familiar and much-trodden, one that led out of the village, over Icewater Creek and through the forest to Lars' house. Alvar was embarrassed, thinking he was severely overdressed for the occasion.

Perhaps all the wizard had meant by his proposal was a simple walk, and the special place was just some flowering meadow nearby. Everyone had special places like those.

Lars said nothing to confirm or dismiss any of that, however. He went on about the weather and the crops and the rosemaries in his garden and before Alvar knew, he'd tuned out of it, the words he spoke turning into a pleasant but incoherent buzz.

It was like this when he'd seen Lars for the first time. He had moved in recently and needed to replenish his supply of herbs. He was still new in Frostspire and after a bit of asking around, Mrs. Launceleyn had shown him to Gran's shop. Alvar was sitting just by the front gate then, snipping the thorns off a pile of white roses.

When he strode in through the gate, hooded and cloaked, staff in hand, looking so grand and beautiful, Alvar had scarcely registered what the new customer was actually asking for. And when he knelt beside him, lowering his hood and offering a smile, Alvar's hand slipped, his fingers caught between the pruner blades. Beads of blood spilled over the white roses.

Lars had apologized profusely, though he really wasn't to blame. Then he'd taken his hand. "Hold on a moment. I can fix this," he said.

And that was how the people of Frostspire came to know that the newcomer young wizard could heal people with his powers. Gran was so pleased to meet a fellow practitioner of the art, she gave him the herb he was looking for free of cost. It was black henbane he'd been asking for, Alvar had later noted with some embarrassment.

Lars dropped by quite a few times after that day, not necessarily looking to purchase, but to ask whether the cut was healing well. It was. Minor wounds closed by magic always healed well, leaving little to no scars. He bet the wizard knew that, but he came to visit nonetheless. It was autumn then as well, and the chrysanthemums were in bloom, their swirls of deep crimson rocking gently at the caress of the wind. Lars used to admire them on his way out.

So Alvar picked a bunch with great care, tied them at the stem with a beautiful silver ribbon and gave them to him next time he came by.

He'd expected a smile, but Lars looked rather serious, seeming to derive some profound meaning from the flowers.

"I'll treasure them," he said solemnly.

"So I need to know before we start on our journey, are you afraid of heights?"

Alvar snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"

They were still walking down a trail through the forest, and unbeknownst to both, their footsteps drew closer and closer until their shoulders almost touched. Alvar made a feeble attempt to grasp the thread of conversation he'd lost long ago. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Lars chuckled, without taking his eyes off the road. Somehow he could read him without looking at him at all. "You haven't been listening at all, have you?"

His silence was answer enough. Lars didn't repeat himself. Soon, the trees thinned around them and they turned up on a rock-studded path, and Lars' house came into view. He dashed inside while Alvar waited by the gate.

Moments later, he reappeared, a wicker basket slung on one arm, Snatcher on top of his head, and in his hands, his much-treasured oakwood broom that he never swept the floors with.

"Be careful not to wake her," he said, handing Alvar the basket. "She isn't too fond of flights."

Inside, bundled up in a blanket, there slept Marcella. Alvar covered her ears before he exclaimed, "flights?"

Lars sent the raven flying up ahead, and then swung one leg over the broom. "Come along, now. We're getting late as it is."

Scarcely believing his ears, Alvar said no more and seated himself behind him, holding onto the basket for dear life. The broom handle was much wider and flatter than ordinary brooms, so it was safe to sit upon without fear of rolling off, and it gradually tapered toward the front so as to offer a good grip to the rider.

"Hold on tight!" cried Lars.

Alvar threw his arms around his shoulders and squinted his eyes shut. "Okay!"

"Not that tight--"

With a swift kick to the ground, the broom soared up into the air. There was no sudden jolt as Alvar had expected, but a smooth ascent, like a kite gently borne up by a rising wind. He relaxed his grip and Lars let out a puff of breath.

Below, the ground fell farther and farther away, and they could see the top of Lar's house from up here. A pair of robins had nested in a crack on the turret roof. The parent birds sat watching over three little blue eggs.

"Ah, so that's why I've been hearing scratching noises up there all night," said Lars. "Hoped I finally had the chance to meet a ghost, but I guess not."

"Hoped?" said Alvar.

"Oh yes. Many of the magical folks I know have run into ghosts. And they always have great stories to tell, if you know how to listen. Wisdom from beyond the grave, as they say."

"I wonder if Gran became a ghost too."

Lars stroked his chin in thought. "That is entirely up to her, I suppose. Sometimes spirits linger, even though the Bridge of Stars remains ever open to them."

"I hope she has taken the bridge then." Alvar shuddered to think of her turning into a vengeful spirit.

"You're thinking of wraiths. Ghosts are not evil things that come out after dark, as they tell you in stories. They are memories, emotions, imprints left by someone who once existed on this plane, just as alive as you and me. They are stories frozen in time. That's what we'll become too, someday."

With a sigh, Alvar leaned his head on Lars' back, watching the old house below drift away beneath the clouds as they soared higher. Above, the air was colder, but soothingly so. It was sweet to breathe and the lilac sky gleamed with the first rays of the sun. The wind blew back their hoods and played with their hair.

Alvar had half a mind to wake Marcella up, so she would not miss this view, but a yowling cat several feet above the ground would be difficult to handle and so he thought better of it.

The mushroom soup incident had taught him enough about impulsive decisions as such.

The tops of trees stuck out over the clouds like green islands, and Alvar knew they were passing over the mountains north of Frostspire, those ones that Lars had deemed too lonely. High up here, snowstorms raged, but the wizard raised a protective shield around them and they passed unharmed, watching the frigid wind blow past them in a white haze.

Once the storms fell away, cold and far, Lars steered them lower and went below the clouds.

They were on the other side of the mountains; a whole new world Alvar had never seen before. Frostspire was all he'd known all his life, the familiar Waterfront, the narrow dirt roads that waded through fields he saw everyday, and the occasional trip to Roselake and its floating tavern.

Now beneath him there were unfamiliar lands, meadows, wheat fields, small villages with red-brick roofs and white walls. Here and there he saw mountains, lakes, castles--some in ruin, others full of people and surrounded by noisy towns and cities.

He forgot to speak for such a long while Lars had to stop just to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep.

"You've been to all these places?" Alvar asked him.

"Of course. I've worked for these good folk. Big towns and cities have got plenty of problems that need a touch of magic to solve."

Alvar watched the buildings flash by. "So that's why you're away so much."

He nodded. "It's rewarding though. I get to meet all sorts of wonderful people and hear their stories. Pay is good, good enough that I can buy myself fancy things such as this," said Lars, patting the broom. "Makes getting around so much easier."

"But you never accept payment in Frostspire!"

"Well, that's different. After all, it's my..." Lars paused for a long moment, the flight of the broom slowing down, drifting along over a canal where boats rocked upon gentle waves.

"...Home," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "Anyway, I don't take money from my friends and neighbors. Though you lot still manage to find out ways to spoil me."

Home, he said, and Alvar heard nothing else.

When you call a place home, you mean to stay. You always return there, even if you're gone for a little while.

"Well, that's nice to hear," he said softly, still wondering about that map he'd seen on his desk.

"I mean it," Lars insisted. "Not every village or town takes kindly to a stranger taking up residence, much less a wizard. Part of the reason why I've been hopping around all my life. But not after Frostspire. Not after I met you."

Alvar wrapped his arms around him snugly from behind. He had a foresty scent about him too, a warm, earthy smell that he could never get enough of.

"Oh? Now what did I do to earn that?" said Lars, chuckling softly.

"Earn what?" Alvar huddled closer. "I am scared of heights. I just remembered."

"Did you, now? I suppose we'd have to walk the rest of the way then. And lemme warn you, it's a long, long way ahead. Could take days, weeks even," he said, and with that, the broom dipped low, gliding through the air in a gentle descent.

Alvar panicked and was about to say he hadn't really meant that, when he took heed of their surroundings.

Lars made the broom land, though it wasn't solid ground underneath. Wooden planks creaked below them, dappled by sunlight that beamed through branches thick with leaves.

They were upon a platform mounted high up on an oak tree, so wide and gargantuan and tall it was dizzying to look at. The platform seemed to be a dock, of a sort. A rickety staircase led up from there, winding around the tree trunk in spirals.

The dock was secured with railings on either side, and along the wall propped against the tree trunk, dozens of brooms stood in a row, tall and shaggy ones that looked as though they'd been through a storm; little ones like children's toys, and well-maintained, polished ones like Lars' own. Besides the brooms there were also parasols, sentient carpets, and a rather complex wooden contraption that looked like a bird's wings.

"Welcome to the Giant Oak!" Lars said when he caught him staring with his mouth open. "Such things are normal here. You'll get used to it."

Up those winding wooden stairs there was an inn. Clearly, the owner was too laid back to worry himself bald thinking of a proper name, and simply went with the most obvious thing in sight. Though that laid back attitude was doing him no good and his hair was thinning anyway. He'd tried to make up for it with a moustache glamorous enough to make Mr. Launceleyn jealous. Snatcher was already there, eating berries from his hand when the tinkling of the bell announced the arrival of Lars and Alvar.

The Giant Oak offered accommodations to all sorts of magical folk--and non magic ones as well, granted they could figure out how to reach the hanging dock. Although they served all kinds of meals, it was the breakfast menu the inn was famous for. There were thirty six different kinds of toasts, and Alvar had no idea there were so many ways to poach eggs. There were juices made from ordinary fruits that he'd seen, some rare fruits he'd only heard of, and completely outlandish ones that he'd neither seen nor heard of. He was relieved to see they had milk, at least he recognized that, but then was again shocked to hear the numerous milk-based beverages there actually were.

When the innkeep began to list all the different kinds of pancakes, Alvar felt dizzy and gave up.

"I'll just have whatever you're having," he said to Lars.

The innkeep chuckled, curling his moustache. "So what will it be? The usual?"

"The usual," Lars agreed. "It'll be a good start for him as well."

He had been ever so right. Lars found them a sunny spot by the window in the back, where flowers bloomed in hanging pots. The food arrived soon; bread toasted to a crisp with butter, with dollops of honey on top, fried eggs, with pepper and some other condiments sprinkled on them that Alvar didn't recognise, nor did he bother so much, because he was too busy wolfing it down. Two big glasses of juice followed next. Marcella enjoyed her scraps of dried meat under the table.

After a hearty breakfast, the two set out again. Snatcher glided alongside them. Marcella, surprisingly, didn't make a fuss, even though she was awake now. She twisted and rolled inside the basket, nudging her head into Alvar's hand.

The sun climbed higher across the clear blue sky, and the towns and cities and villages and sleepy hamlets fell far behind them. They passed over deserted moorlands overgrown with heather, where the lonely winds wailed aloud.

At last they alighted at the edge of a dense forest. So dense were the trees they could not pass through the thick canopy of branches and leaves.

"Evernight Forest," Lars declared. "From here, we go on foot."

Stepping into the shadows had the same disorienting effect on Alvar as going indoors after a long day in the bright sun.

Inside the forest, it appeared to be dusk. Little sun could seep through the leaves and boughs overhead, and the things that grew on the forest floor in the sallow light were strange and odd. Mushrooms like pale white fingers jutted out from the rich black soil, silvery creepers twisted around gnarled old trees that sported beards of lichen. Fireflies hovered around bushes and crickets chirped. Glowing eyes watched them from tree-tops.

An ancient cobbled road winded through the forest, vanishing occasionally under roots and small streams. They followed its course.

A smell of damp soil lingered in the air. Huge, luminous butterflies fluttered about, not the least bit bothered by the newcomers. Alvar was so busy looking around he nearly tripped over tree roots a few times.

"Careful!" warned Lars, holding aloft his glowing staff. But the light from its stone was scarcely enough.

They had gone no more than a few paces when a flicker of cold light seemed to approach them from the distant gloom. A lantern flew toward them on its own, rocking up and down as it did, as if carried by an invisible, frantic runner. A pale blue wisp of light flickered inside the glass.

"A ghost!" cried Alvar, picking up Marcella at once and taking a step back.

"No, it's clearly a lamp," said Lars, who looked relaxed as always.

The wisp lantern stopped before them.

A fond smile spread across Lars' face as he looked at the thing. "Ah, of course. She has sent this for us. How did she know we were coming?"

"Who?" asked Alvar.

Lars turned to him, his face lit by the pale blue light. "My mentor, Anika. She's a great sorceress who has taught me all I know."

"Then it's no wonder she can predict our arrival, is it?"

"Of course, that makes sense," said Lars, and turned to the lantern. "Let us not keep her waiting then!"

The lamp floated before them, lighting up the path that lay ahead. With Marcella in his arms, dozing with her little head on his shoulder, Alvar followed.

The thought of meeting new people had always scared him, but now he felt no fear at all. She was Lars' mentor, someone he looked up to. All the while they trudged through the dark forest, he wondered if they were anything alike.

The road led them deep into the heart of Evernight Forest, where lay a great swamp with water green as grass. All sounds were drowned out by the croaking of frogs, and orbs of cold blue light, like the one inside the lantern, hovered over the water here and there.

The road turned from cobblestones to a walkway made of planks that waded through the water, ending at last at the door of a cottage upon a patch of land in the middle of the swamp.

Tall poles held it high from the ground to keep from the flood. All of the windows were set with stained glass of a myriad of colours which gleamed from the warm light within. An empty hook dangled above the porch. The lantern that had guided them so far now hopped up the steps, swung its handle through the hook and hung there, an inanimate object once more. The wisp went out with a hiss.

Lars knocked with the huge brass knocker. "Hello!"

Inside, they heard an airy voice.

"You hear that, Polo? They're here already. How wonderful!" someone said to someone. And a moment later, the door swung open.

Alvar had to crane his neck to look at her.

At the doorstep stood Anika, the Grandmaster Sorceress who was Lars' mentor. She towered over them both, about seven feet tall, and her hair was completely silver, flowing loose over her back like a moonlit river. Stars emblazoned her periwinkle robes and pointed hat. Many a long year had written their tales between the lines upon her face, yet her eyes held a youthful spark about them.

In one arm she cradled a goose. Alvar gaped at it.

She followed his gaze and laughed aloud.

"Say hello to our guests, Polo," she told the goose.

Polo honked happily.

Anika and Lars talked, exchanging pleasantries and news, both having to speak very loud to be heard over the shrill whistling of the kettle over the fire and the clamour of the dishes that washed themselves over the sink.

"And so how's business?" she shouted as she poured them tea.

"Positively blooming, I should say!" Lars yelled back, glancing over at Alvar.

Alvar was rather busy watching how Marcella reacted to Polo. Snatcher had flown up to the rafters and dozed off as soon as they arrived, but Marcella had taken an immediate interest in her surroundings.

Presently she and Polo stood staring at each other. Then, without warning, she reached out to smack Polo in the face.

The goose dodged and flew out of the way, and pranced around her in a mocking dance.

"Be nice to our guests, Polo dear," said Anika before she sat down with them at the kitchen table. The goose and cat chased each other out of the door and out of sight.

Before she took her tea, she fetched a smoking pipe, like the one Lars had. Hers had a colourful tassel near the stem, and the bowl was carved into the shape of a pinecone. What she smoked was certainly not mint, but a combination of herbs much stronger.

She put her hat aside and watched Alvar with her ancient eyes, as though just by looking she would know all there was about him to know.

The tea she made was splendid, and there seemed to be no end to her questions. She was curious about all they had to say.

She, just like Lars, was strangely easy to talk to, once he got past the awkward introductory parts. Alvar ended up telling her about everything --about Gran, the garden, his progress so far in learning magic, and what Frostspire was like.

She was rather taken aback when she came to know this was his first time setting foot out of Frostspire, except the occasional trip to the nearby town.

"My, my! There is so much out there you're yet to see, dear," said the sorceress. She frowned at Lars. "You! You've got that fancy broom! Why don't you take him out more often?"

Leaning back against his chair, Lars threw him a knowing smile. "It's not easy to convince him to take a day off."

"I've got to look after the shop," said Alvar. "I can't just set off on tours like these whenever I want."

"No wonder you can't. Even when Aunt Elena watches the shop for you, you go and find more work to do. Come now, is it really necessary to pull out weeds every single week?"

"Of course it is," said Alvar.

"Once a year seems fine to me," said Lars, munching on his fourth biscuit. "Or every ten years."

Alvar looked at Anika. "Hear that? You wouldn't believe what a state his garden was in back when I first started. Place was overgrown with weeds," he said, hoping the wizard's mentor would take his side and knock some sense into her student.

Anika sipped her tea and set down her cup with a quizzical smile. "Why, I don't mind them either."

While Lars started on his fifth biscuit, she rose and showed Alvar to the back of the house. A wooden door led to a part of the patch of land that was closed off with low fences. Inside there was a herb garden. More lanterns hung from crooked poles on either side of the pebble lined path, and swarms of fireflies danced above the plants.

Hundreds of kinds of herbs grew there, and Alvar recognised some of them, because Gran had written about their life-saving properties. So many healing plants in one place, the very air was refreshing to breathe.

"All these plants, they were once naught but weeds. Because no one knew about the goodness they possess," she said. "But imagine if I'd pulled them out before they even had a chance to grow. I'd never know what I'd lost."

Alvar crossed his arms begrudgingly. "I suppose that's true."

"When these strange plants come invading your lovely garden, Master Alvar, allow them to grow. Who knows, perhaps you'll come across something wonderful like that Ursanthus tree?"

"But I don't know that for sure, do I?" Frustration crept into his voice. "What if they turn out to be poisonous? What if I make a mess of things and ruin everything?"

As he spoke, he glanced back at the house, and the sorceress knew the conversation was not about weeding gardens anymore.

"You gotta nurture and water these plants, in order to see what they grow into," she told him. She then leaned down, so they were eye to eye.

"Commit to it. You'll know if it's worth the risk," she said.

Alvar had hardly time to truly process her words before Anika stood upright and walked away in a hurry as if the conversation had never happened.

"Haven't seen Polo in a while!" she said, looking around. "Where's she gone? Don't tell me your little cat chased her away."

"She couldn't have," said Lars, appearing by the garden gate, the cat in his arms. "She was with me this whole time."

"Maybe," said Anika, stroking Marcella on the head, "she came up to you after she had done the evil deed."

"That might be true," he agreed.

"Prrbt," the suspect protested with huge, pleading eyes.

The three looked around the garden in search of the goose and called out her name. She was nowhere to be seen, even after a thorough search about the house.

Anika sighed. "Looks like I need your help after all."

"We're always glad to offer it," said Lars with a flourish.

"Go find her for me then."

She rooted around in a tool shed and took out what looked like a dozen colourful bells strung on a cord. They made a sweet sound when she shook them. Clink clink.

"You'll need this," she said, handing it to them. "Polo's favourite toy. Give it a ring when you see her. She'll come running."

Once again the two embarked upon a search through the forest. Marcella bounded after them and Snatcher wheeled overhead. As the day drew on, the gloom seemed darker than ever, and mists coiled around tree trunks thick and crooked, although it was around midday. They wandered deeper and deeper into the forest.

Then from amid the darkness they caught a sudden flash of white, and Polo flew above their heads with a flutter.

"There!" cried Alvar, giving the bells a frantic shake. "Come on, Polo! C'mere--"

She flew out of his reach with a cackle and disappeared out of sight behind some branches.

Lars shook his head. "Don't try to make a grab for her like that, you're scaring her. Lemme try it."

He took the bells from him and shook them, prancing around in a circle in a silly little dance. "Come along now. Who's a good goose? You are!"

A rustle. Polo poked her head out of a nearby bush, squawked at them--then retreated promptly like a turtle sliding back into its shell.

And with a rushing of wing and feather, she was gone again.

"I don't speak goose, but I'm quite sure she was laughing at you just now," said Alvar, reaching for the bells. "My turn!"

"I'm not finished yet." Lars held them high out of his reach. "Patience, my friend!"

Alvar was the smaller of the two, but not so much that he couldn't jump and grab it from his hand before he even had time to speak. He took it and ran, waving the bells over his head, laughing.

"Oh no, you don't!" Lars was not letting him get away with this. Soon he was hot on his trail.

He could hardly outrun the wizard. He ran much faster, and swifter, and he knew his way around the place unlike Alvar, who stumbled at every corner. Yet Lars slowed down, letting him have his fun. He would catch up eventually.

Alvar had never felt so free.

He dashed through the trees, through the gloom and the mists that seemed to engulf the forest in an everlasting darkness, not cold and dreary, but soothing, like a deep sleep after a hard day. Glowing moths fluttered out of the undergrowth he shuffled through, luminous pollens set free in swirls as he brushed past nameless flowers. He waded his way through a cluster of hanging vines radiant like shafts of light. The forest was dark, yet light and colours bloomed everywhere he looked.

He ran and ran, until at last he came to a stop. Before him, the wall of trees opened up to give way to bright sunrays, a blinding door of light. He stepped through and found himself at the edge of a meadow.

He had run so far he'd come right out of the other side of the forest.

At his feet, flowers and tall grasses swayed in the rushing wind, and swirls of mist drifted above the stream that waded its lazy way through. Behind him stood Evernight forest with all her dark beauty. Ahead, blooming meadows stretched on and on and on, a great expanse of green splattered with the yellows, reds and purples of wildflowers. Distant mountains loomed in the horizon, clad in blue haze.

Under the wide open sky once again, Alvar took long breaths of the fragrant air.

He gasped as a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

A breathy laugh, a rustle of sun-warmed clothes, the scent of woodsmoke, and rain soaked earth-- the first, sweet rain that followed a long summer.

Alvar closed his eyes and placed his hands on the ones now around him, basking in their warmth.

"So you've found it at last," Lars said, his chin on his shoulder.

"Found what?"

"This is my special place," he said, gesturing before them. "I used to come here all the time back when I first started learning magic from Anika. Her place is lovely, but one needs some sun from time to time."

He pulled away. "Come, let's rest a bit. I've done enough running for today."

Lars picked up a few flowers on the way. They went and sat, back to back, upon the slope just above the banks of the stream. Lars fumbled with the flowers he'd picked. Marcella appeared out of nowhere, as cats do, and rolled on a patch of grass nearby. Snatcher flew high up, a black dot in the vast blue sky.

Alvar could stay like this for an eternity and not worry about anything else ever. Lars placed something on top of his head, hardly able to contain his smile.

It was a crown made of leaves and wild flowers, he discovered.

"Don't you take it off!" Lars protested, leaning in close to fix it on his head once more. "There. A crown fit for a king!"

He laughed at the absurdity of it all. "A king! Where is my kingdom, then?"

"You've got your garden. Two gardens, in fact. And everyone knows they're better than cities wrought with blood and raging wars."

"Oh, you clearly have no idea how much rage it takes to fight off bugs and diseases and wild plants."

"What do I know?" Lars shrugged. "I'm just a wizard."

Alvar chose to indulge this silly game, if only for this one time. He'd never seen Lars so happy and radiant and full of contentment.

This was his moment. This was his chance.

"Would you heed your king's words?" he said with a mischievous smile, about to make perhaps the most daring move of his life.

"Every command," said Lars, leaning in closer. "I am the court wizard after all."

"Then I command you to kiss me."

Lars' lips were on his as soon as the words left him. He didn't overthink. He didn't hesitate for an eternity.

Powers flowed unbidden as they kissed, the magic making Alvar a little dizzy as their lips moved against each other's, the sort of disorientation one feels when waking from a dream. It is worth the risk. So much worth the risk.

He found himself lying on the grass when they broke apart for air.

Above him, Lars was glancing around, wide-eyed.

He laughed out loud. "Just look at what you've done!"

Alvar sat up. There was a ring of flowers, growing all around them in a circle.

"It's a good thing that it was your powers that got out of control," said Lars, summoning a flicker of fire upon his palm. Then he seemed to remember the original purpose of this venture at last. "Wait. What about finding Polo?"

Alvar looked at the bells that lay a few paces away. He didn't even remember when he'd tossed them aside.

"I don't really care about that right now," he admitted. "Even if it makes Anika mad."

"You would risk a sorceress's wrath for me?" said Lars, looking oh so very smug and pleased with himself.

Alvar said nothing. He took off the flower crown, put it on Lars' head and simply kissed him again. They eventually lost count. There was no point, after all, in counting them like coins, when they could be so freely given.

Afterwards they sat by the stream for a long time, and Lars told him all about his journey when he had first started learning magic.

When they returned, empty-handed from their search, it was already time for afternoon tea.

Anika sat on the porch, having a smoke. She was not wrathful in the slightest, but in a rather content mood.

"We spotted her a couple of times, but we couldn't catch her," admitted Lars.

"And then we looked for her but couldn't find her anywhere," said Alvar, handing her the bells.

"Of course you couldn't," she said, and for a moment Alvar was sure they were caught, until she gave the bells a jingle.

A patter of webbed feet came up from behind, and there was Polo, running up to them. She nudged the bells with her beak and danced around happily at the sound they made.

"She came back not long after you two were gone. But I didn't send for you. Thought you'd enjoy having a better look around this place. It is a lovely forest, isn't it?"

"Incredible," said Alvar.

"And even if you didn't find what you went looking for, I hope you discovered something else that was worth the trouble," she said.

"Oh, we sure did," said Lars. Alvar went red in the face; his 'kingly' boldness had worn off by now.

She smiled and said no more, and gave Polo a bowl of peas to eat. The goose ate them in a matter of seconds, though destroy would have been a better word.

"Good girl!" Anika petted her on the top of her head, then turned to the two. "Come on, now! Tea is getting cold."

The broom ride back home was a quiet one, with both of them bundled up snugly in their cloaks, stomachs full and hearts content. In silence they rode amidst the falling dusk, and in silence Lars dropped him off right in front of the shop.

Before he flew off, the wizard placed a quick peck on top of his head, both of them blissfully tired and sleepy.

Alvar stood at the doorstep and watched him fly away, off to the top of the mountain where his home was.