A bench does obligingly present itself, as she predicted. She sweeps along to and sits, tucking her cloak's edges neatly around herself with ease of long practice, in the shadow of a mouldering, empty-windowed ruined house. She makes sure to perch herself at the absolute end of one side, so as to encourage distance between them, though who knows what the boy will make of it.

"What a ridiculous distinction," she tuts, "But yes. Tell me about this 'power'. What are these witches doing with these shards - and what were you doing in them?"