The strange woman who has made profane this hallowed shrine is as awe-struck as she is frightened. She is not of the Milesians, but she is no Danaan either. Her eyes behold other planes, her hands have felt the magic of leaves, her feet have marched with rhythmic respect along ley lines. Her lips have kissed the sacred standing stones. She is but a mortal channel of the Sídhe. "Halt, star-watcher!" I shout with severity.

My tone changes quickly when I observe her true nature. I look back to the sleeping faery maid, afraid I have upset her slumber, then I look back to the star-watcher. "Please...you are welcome here."