"Within the stories. Within the night. Within the dreams," he explained.

She thought for a long time. Then she used her tiniest voice again. "Am I within the boy?" she whispered.

"Always," he said, and smiled at her.

It made sense to her, and she asked nothing else. Littlest sighed and fluttered ahead and around him, playing in the last of the night that remained, using her youthful energy.

"Look!" she called to him, and pointed to her own shadow, then danced a bit, waving her arms to make the shadow dance and wave as well. "It's a phenomenon of light!"

He chuckled, watching her, but reminded her again, "We must hurry. We mustn't be out and about when the sun rises."

"All right." She fluttered back near him, then stopped, suddenly, examining her own self. "My goodness!" she exclaimed. "I'm not transparent anymore!" She peered at her own arm, then lifted a leg and looked carefully at that as well. "I can't see through me!

"Can you?" she asked him, and thrust her arm into his face. "Can you see through me?"

"No. You're becoming somewhat solid. You're filling in," he explained.

"What fills me?" she asked, staring still at her arm.

"Everything that you're a part of. Your own story fills you."

"What happens to me now?" she asked in a worried voice. "I've never been solid before."

"You're not solid yet. You're becoming solid. I'd call you translucent, I think, at this stage. Look. Hold your arm next to mine."

She did so, and they could both see the difference. His arm was opaque, quite firm, and hers still glimmered with backlight. But it was true that she was no longer transparent.

"What happens now?" he said, repeating her question. "You bring all of that solidity to your work. And someday perhaps you will use it to teach a young dream-giver."

They hurried on but her brow was furrowed. She tugged at his arm, stopped him, and looked up into his wise, kind eyes.

"I feel terribly sad," Littlest One confided, "about the boy, and about the filling-in."

"Quite so. Change means leaving things behind, and that's always sad. Please hurry now. There's the Heap just ahead, and look: the sun is about to rise. Dive in."

Together they dove into the Heap just as the sky turned pink behind them.

"Cutting it a little close," Most Ancient scolded. He had been standing at the entrance, watching for them.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Littlest just noticed that she's beginning to turn solid, and we stopped to talk about it."

Most Ancient sighed. "Ah. Change. But we all go through it. Go on and rest, Thin Elderly. You look exhausted."

Thin Elderly yawned and moved into the darkness. Most Ancient turned to Littlest.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "I have a surprise for you."

Littlest One was still examining her own self, holding her different parts toward the entrance where the dawn light now glowed. Ahead, in the Heap, where the other dream-givers were already nestled to sleep, and where Thin Elderly had gone to join them, it was dark. "Yes," she said, a little uncertainly, "I'm fine. Just adjusting."

Then, recalling what he had said, she turned to him eagerly. "What's my surprise?"

Most Ancient turned and reached for something that was behind him. He picked it up and placed it in her arms, and it looked up at her with wide, curious eyes. It was what she had once been: tiny, a wisp of a thing, with a mischievous smile and a trusting, visible heart.

"Oh!" she cried. She hugged it to her, against her badge. "What's its name?"

"Ask it," Most Ancient suggested.

"Who are you?" she asked the diminutive, transparent creature in her arms, keeping her voice calm and quiet so that it wouldn't be scared.

"New Littlest," it told her.

She was puzzled and almost frightened at first. Then she thought, Of course! Most Ancient could not always have been Most Ancient, and Thin Elderly must once have been something else. Even Fastidious—well, maybe not. Perhaps she had always been Fastidious.

She cradled New Littlest, moving her hands as gently as possible around the fragile little thing, and turned back to ask Most Ancient what she needed to know.

"Who am I now?"

"Gossamer," he told her.