The next thing she knew, the sun was coming in the window, and there was land below them. Nita looked down into the early sun – six o'clock in the morning, it was – and saw the ragged black coastline and the curling water white where the water smashed into the rocks, where the Atlantic threw itself in fury against this first eastern barrier to its will. And then green – everywhere green, divided by little lines of hedge; a hundred shades of green, emerald, viridian, khaki, the pale green that has no right to be anywhere outside of spring – hedgerows winding between, white dots of sheep, tiny cars crawling along little toy roads: but always the green. The plane turned and she saw the beginning sprawl of houses, and Shannon town – a little city, barely the size of her own. The plane was turning to line up with the airport's active runway, and the sun caught her full in the eyes. She shivered, a feeling that had nothing to do with the warmth of the sudden light. That was warm enough, but the feeling was cold. Something about to happen, something about the lances of light, the fire. . .Nita shook her head: the feeling was gone. I didn't sleep very well, she thought. I'm susceptible to weird ideas. But then when wizards have weird ideas, they do well to pay attention to them. She forced herself to relive the feeling, to think again of the cold, and the fire, the sun like a spear. . .Nothing came of it. She shrugged, and watched the plane finish its turn and drop towards the runway.It took them about fifteen minutes to get down, and for the plane to trundle up to the arrivals area. With her rucksack over her back, she said goodbye at passport control to the stewardess who was taking care of her. "No, I can manage myself, thanks."She went up to the first empty desk she found and laid her passport on it, and smiled at the man. He looked down at her and said, "Here's a wee dote of a thing to be traveling all alone. And how are you this morning?"
