The owl flies on, covering what must be hundreds of miles of strange land. They pass over forest, river, farm, lake, another forest, another farm, another river.

Another lake.

There is a castle beside this one, a lonely-looking place with high walls and higher towers. Along the nearest shore, a cluster of young women in white dresses huddles under the owl's shadow. It swoops low, low enough for Isabella to see their frightened faces looking up at her, then drops her on her feet a quarter of the way around the lake.

And then it is not a giant owl at all, but a man in a long feathered cape, his hands digging into her shoulders as he spins her around and scowls thunderously into her face.