over on the eastern horizon where the sun was rising. Occasionally the mist would break open above, and she would see glimpses of blue sky—the deep, deep blue of that day in the meadow with Fleuriss. And lying all around on the boulders were frost-feathers. When Eepersip first saw them she thought that she was dreaming. But no, they were really there, delicate ferns and feathers with scalloped edges—ferns and feathers of frost.
"Oh, mountain-fairies—fairies have left them here," she said quietly. Some were as long as her forearm, and others tiny—oh, so tiny; some were almost round like the inner feathers of a bird, and others long and narrow like the outer plumes. Down in a hollow were some stunted firs, laden with snow and covered with those fronds of ivory chiselled by wind-sprites, lovelier than anything Eepersip had ever seen, lovelier than anything ever made by Nature. No, Nature could never have carved them, Eepersip thought. The fairies—fairies!
Once she found a hollowed rock entirely lined with them, like a fairy's crystal palace with strange shadowy recesses. They crowded everywhere they could find room, and sometimes, when there was no other place, rippled on the snow. They overlapped on the rocks, and hung from windward
