“Fireflies.”
“What?” Iseult splashed upright. Chill bumps raced down her arms.
“There.” Aeduan waved across the pond. “Fireflies. They’re good luck in Marstok, I’ve heard. And children make wishes on them.” There was something light to Aeduan’s voice, as if he …
“Are you making a joke?” Iseult pushed to her feet. Water droplets splattered across the stone.
“No.”
Iseult didn’t believe him.”
―
Susan Dennard,
Windwitch