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Last Saturday, Owen Davies drove Bran to the Machynlleth train station. Since then he has been working very hard indeed on the farm, and volunteering more than usual at chapel. David and Jen Evans had him to dinner three times, and John Rowlands has been a great support, and there has been plenty of work to do.

At night, though, when Owen comes home, leading Lluchddu into the house, the little cottage is far too still.

If anything, Owen is relieved when he finds Milliways at the other side of his bedroom door.

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"Is he? It must be the season for it; my friends Anne and Phil are getting ready to go as well.

"You must miss him," says Amy, gently.

"School starts in the fall," Owen says, in his lilting baritone; he does not reply to Amy's second comment.

She doesn't make any other reference to her second comment, either.

"I keep forgetting it's early fall here, and most places," says Amy. "It's halfway through November at home, and just starting to feel like winter."

Oh, look, they're talking about the weather.

"I do not understand the way time works here, and I do not want to," says Owen. "It is not for men to know. But it is September where I live."

"Plus, if you try to think about it too much, you just get headaches," says Amy. "I think it's much easier simply accept some things."

"Certainly," Owen answers. "That is the only thing to do, really."

There is silence.

Eventually Owen realises it's his turn to make conversation. "November, you said? Are you prepared for the winter?"

"I believe so," says Amy. "The harvest is in, and we had our first frost . . . two weeks ago, I think. There abouts. It was good year. It's almost Advent, when things will settle down as far as the social calender, but the preparations for Christmas will begin, which will be rather time-consuming, but no doubt worth the trouble."

A year ago, the answer to that question would have been, "Yes, I've gotten my cloak out of storage." But that was before she was a queen.

Owen's a farmer, and there's always plenty of work to do before winter comes.

"I am glad to hear you have had a good harvest. It has not been a bad year at Clwyd, but of course it is hard to tell this early."

"September would be," she says, nodding.

"Bran said you raise sheep, I believe?"

Owen nods. "Sheep, yes, and some cattle, and a few crops. Dogs, too, for the sheep."

Amy casts about for something to say.

"Which part is your favorite?"

Owen pauses. The question's never occurred to him.

"It is all work, it doesn't matter--" Owen stops himself again. He speaks as if he is realising what he is about to say only as he says it.

"I like tending the sheep in the hills, with the dogs keeping the sheep in line and the wind like a voice calling. With Bran working next to me, although he is too clever for the work and it was right for him to go."

Amy listens, smiling a little as he talks.

"That sounds lovely," she says, "the hills and the wind; I've always liked being outside, whenever I can."

A pause.

"Bran is someone you can rightly be proud of."

Owen's fingers tighten on each other.

"Thank you," he says at last.

"How well do you know him, then?"

"Well enough to respect him," she says. "And to owe him a great deal of thanks. There was a . . . situation last winter that could have been far, far worse without his help and advice. He is someone I wish I knew better, though."

"Last winter, now?" Owen's alert now, and grim. "Not a good time at all, here."

"Last winter," says Amy, quietly.

It's been almost two years now, for Amy, but she still remembers how cold it was -- far too cold to be out without a cloak -- and a ledger in the snow.

"And no. A bad time, in fact. But over."

"Thank God for that," Owen answers heavily.

Half of Owen does not want to know what happened last winter. The other half would like to hear something, anything, about Bran now that he has gone.

"If it is not too much, may I ask you what it was that Bran did?"

"It's a lot, but, no, it's not too much," she says, but there's a noticable pause before she continues.

"Warned me about her," she says, finally. "Gave me the names of people who could be trusted and could help if problems arose. Professor Lyon had to break a spell laid on my brother. And I would not have known to write him had Bran not mentioned him."

"I see."

Owen exhales, in some relief. He'd expected to hear that Bran had put himself in more danger for this girl. "Bran said she is powerless, now, and that he has not seen her here. I hope that he is right."

She nods. "That's what I'm told as well, and by people I trust to know."

"Good," says Owen, but he glances around the room as if Blodwen Rowlands might be standing somewhere in the shadows.

"Is your brother all right?"

"He is," says Amy. "Quite all right. He's just been married."

Owen relaxes and manages a small, real smile. "Wish him congratulations, then."

"I will," says Amy. "I'm sure he'll be very glad to have them."

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