"That would be wise," Ariadne said. "Although you mustn't make them out of wood. Wood burns far too easily. One wrong cooking fire and you could lose everything you've worked for."

Sadly, she spoke from some experience there. Refugees were common enough back home.

And without meaning to, she felt the pulse of the shard in her hand. It was, of course, completely imagined. But it was hard to ignore. Especially when she started to think of home.

She shook her head. "What's your name, milord?"