Her hand hovered a charged inch from the little god's bald head, and her eyes were wide. Surely, [i]surely[/i] she hadn't just heard a voice in her head. Surely she was [i]dreaming[/i] awake, like the seers of Ishtandur. [i]Was[/i] she a seer? Her grandmother had always said --

The second time that voice resounded, Agatha remembered to breathe and she backed up; a shelf of skulls behind her tottered woodenly and she jumped, a hand grasping the air for something to steady her while her eyes were fixed on the statue.

Something was shimmering in the air. It was man-shaped.

Her trembling fingers knocked over an iron vase and a porcelain clown before they clamped on the back of a chair.

"[i]Papa?[/i]" she called meekly, her head turned toward the doorway while her eyes never moved. She shifted a foot backward. She remembered to breathe. "Pa--" A head, a long robe that threaded itself with color, a nose and a beard and eyes. They all shimmered into existence before her, translucent, and soon enough they would be whole. She reached back and her voice wavered. "[i]Papa![/i]"

Pinafore squealed and creaked in concern and alarm; in a rare show of bravery, the young fingerling scrabbled out of his hiding place and leaped in a flash of blue leather onto the table -- jars and figurines clattered and tinkled and rolled all around him, he swiped his tail and something shattered on the floor. He thrust his long neck, little sharp jaws opened wide and he roared at the shimmery old man with all his might, like a rusty hinge.

Agatha broke her stare to look at the dragon for an instant, and her paralysis was broken. She darted behind the table and crouched there with her face hidden against her arms, taking deep open breaths of musty air. An [i]enchantment[/i], surely -- or, no! Papa had said .... he'd said about that statue ...

[i]Who are you?[/i]

"An earth god!" Agatha whispered airily to herself. [i]It was true![/i] She smiled widely for a moment, thrilled that she had [i]wakened[/i] an [i]earth god[/i] -- but her expression fell just as quickly as she wondered just what [i]sort[/i] of god she had awakened. There were gods that were capable of terrible things. She'd seen the picture books.

Slowly she peeped over the edge of the table, breathing through her mouth -- and when nothing terrible happened she stood a bit taller, shifted a bit better into the earth god's sight, her expression one of slack wonder. He [i]looked[/i] like a kindly old man -- like a grandfather, wise and full of stories, with sweets in his pockets and an answer to every problem. Try as she might -- even while she could still see through him to the jars and bowls behind -- she couldn't imagine this old, wrinkled man committing any of the horrors of the picture books. She couldn't imagine him anything less than kind. Even as Pinafore growled and fluttered, Agatha's fear dwindled.

[i]Agatha...[/i]

Her breath caught again, and this time she remembered her manners. How [i]does[/i] one greet a god? Awkwardly, she laid a hand on the chair again and curtsied, and she hoped this was enough. "Yes..." Her voice was barely audible, so much it squeaked and shook. She pretended to clear her throat as she'd seen her father do when he had trouble speaking, and she lifted her chin.

"Yes," she said in her bravest and most articulate voice. "My name is Agatha Eugenia Kerrigan Thrimble. Sir." What [i]was[/i] the correct pronoun to address a god with? She curtsied again. "I am honored to meet you. I hope you have had a restful --" [i]no, don't say that![/i] but it was too late: "-- sleep." She winced and looked up, and she wondered if his body were completely whole just yet. He still hadn't moved his wrinkly mouth.

"Is there something I can get you?" The more he looked like a simple old man, the easier it was to believe that he was, indeed. "You must be awfully hungry. [i]Hush[/i], Pin!" She made warning eyes at the squeaking fingerling, and the dragon shut his teeth.