London

We didn’t spend long in London, in the end. The fog lifted early, exposing a city of wood. Kathy was having second thoughts about going in.

‘It’ll be full of people,’ she said. ‘And they’ll all be …’ She left the rest unsaid.

So, once she’d climbed on my back, I flew to the place where she said her parents would be. On the way, we crossed the river. The water was still water – that’s one substance that’s remained unchanged by the turning of the world – but the rest of the city was transformed. The towes and cathedrals were vast edifices of timber – oak and ash, beech and mahogany. Likewise the bridges. The streets were crowded with wooden vehicles. And people, of course.

Kathy’s parents were buried beneath a grave marker made of cherry-wood. Once it would have been sandstone. I left her with her memories and wandered through the cemetary. A curious human ritual, the burial of the dead. Dragons used to see their departed into the next realm with fire.

When she was done, we flew north, back the way we’d come. There was no debate – we just went. Tomorrow we’ll be in what used to be Scotland. We’ll stand outside the entrance to the tunnel where we met and make our decisions: to part company, or stay together. To enter or not.

I’d thought the choices would be simple. Now I’m not so sure.