Jade Fern Grove Seems you cannot be replaced, and I'm the one who will stay

reverie brushed away her hunger as if it were no more than a cobweb. she went on talking about raindancers and lestan continued to listen, though the few moments that he did look away from her were spent flicking across the drifts for tracks.
lestan pictured the raindancers, the wolves asking for water from an unforgiving heat. and he saw her as well, dancing as poignantly as she moved, a vessel for the holy one of her gilded sea.
"i was born on loch teine, in spring. fire lake," lestan translated, "named so because when the moon was high or the sun was up, the waters turned to golden fire in that light."
the mayfair's life had been full of such: spirits and stories and witches, and as he spoke, his brow furrowed slightly, and he looked at reverie as if perhaps once up a time he might have known her.
"we danced around the lake, though not just for rain, for anything." his laughter was soft and quick and easy. "and this," lestan said of the banks around them, "is snow. hold a mouthful and see it turn back to water." he chuckled and ducked his head a bit shyly, sharpening when he found a single goat's trail leading into the shadows. "you were a raindancer then?"