"Did she?" Amalthea did not know the name or the woman it belonged to, but she drifted closer to the garden to get a closer look. She held her tea cup carefully and reached out with her free hand to touch some of the flowers. Magic shivered up her arm and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up; she felt the mark on her forehead burn, but it didn't feel unpleasant.

"It is old magic," she said, as if it needed confirming to her or anyone else. This was a magic that knew itself well. "It's helping the plants grow, it's bringing out the best in them, the most potential they could possibly have, and perhaps a little more. It isn't so different than what happened in my forest, once I was living there long enough."