[She laughs at that, and then feels a little bad for laughing.]

Ye? Workin' on too many things?

Sure, I ken that about 'ee. It's, uh...

[The last bit of her smile fades for a moment. It's the problem, she almost said. Ye get into too much, too deep. I wish it were just making silly toys.]

[Clearing her throat, she reaches for the turtle, careful in case it's not as near finished as it looks. It's a silly distraction, but she waggles it to and fro, like it's looking around.]

See the Turtle of enormous girth, on his back he holds the earth... Ye have that one where ye're from?

He loves the land and loves the sea, and even loves a child like me.

There's more of it. Just one of those little rhymes children sing in the schoolyard, ye ken?

But I always liked it, too.

[She perks up a little at that.]

Oh! We had that one, too!

Except I learnt it It all comes down, and then ye have to not be the last one on the floor.

Ain't it queer, what things our worlds have in common?

[She nods. It's strange, talking like this, like there's nothing wrong between them, and nothing ever was. It's strange, but it's a relief, too.]

It's been one of those queer things here. The things that come out the same. And the things that ain't quite the same.

Like, I heard someone sing Hey Jude, a while back, only the words were different. And there's stories folk tell from other worlds, that sound nearly like ours.

And the rain in Spain.

[She doesn't mind him being a nerd. Honestly, it makes this a lot easier. His enthusiasm is easy to latch onto.]

That's a thing they chant in schoolhouses where I'm from, only I never knew what Spain was till I got here.

It makes ye wonder, no?

Aye, could be. Or...

[She tucks one hoof under herself, leaning in a little, her interest getting the better of her awkwardness.]

Did I ever tell 'ee that there were folk here before me - Bert told me - who knew my world, but they came from yours? From New York?

I never met 'em. Not this me, anyroad. But this ain't the only world that could be a hub.

The Manni-folk say summat like that, I think. About hubs. I don't ken it all, I never spoke to 'em too long, but there's stories.

Could be that here's nearer to there than we'd've guessed. Could be we're nearer the Tower, if they're right.

It ain't that I don't want to. [She shrugs. It's nice to have something to talk about, and it's nice to see him excited and interested, but...] It's just that I'm none too sure what to say, ye ken?

It's just one of those things folk talk about, like God or the Clearing or the Old Ones. If ye'd asked me afore I came here, I'd've said it was just a story. Only, well, I guess Bert seems pretty sure these days, and he says Roland went lookin' for it, and...

[She cuts herself off there, clearing her throat. Given that she's here to reconnect with one beau, it doesn't seem too wise to go off on a tangent about the other - even if Peter's never seemed the jealous type.]

Uh. Anyroad, it's an old tale. That in the long, long ago - before the world - there was the Prim. Chaos and demons and madness. And then out of that, Gan brought up the world, and held it up with six Beams - and at the middle, where the Beams cross, there's the Tower. The real hub of the worlds, I guess. Like everything's a wheel, and the Tower's the axle, ye ken?

It holds up the Beams, and the Beams hold up the world, and things lean in toward it. Or so they say.

And the Manni-folk, they say there's more worlds along the other Beams, mayhap even on the same one. They say ye can move between 'em, if ye ken the way, though I never knew if they meant it or if they just ken summat better than devil-grass to lose their minds to.