"How many winters?" she repeated, the exact same intonation.

"He doesn't know what you're talking about, poppet," Papa's voice whispered to her.

Artemis turned to look at him, knowing full well that he wasn't really there. "I know that," she hissed. "Shut up."

And as if it were nothing at all, she turned right back to the stranger, watching the colors of his aura continue to swirl, like broken bits of glass caught up in the bulb of a kaleidoscope. "If the question means nothing to you, you must be either very young, very old, or very insane. But I don't think you're insane. I could sniff out another of my kind easily enough."