But look! Who is that one?
He tumbles from the sky like a young bird.
His wings are not much larger than a pigeon’s.

Oh, now he is upset. He says he is not that young!
His name is Rahmiel,
and he is almost two thousand years old.

He is the angel of love and compassion.

The witch that can heal broken hearts as easily as broken bones lives in a house built from raven feathers.

She sits on her roof in the shape of a magpie when Rahmiel knocks at her door.
“What is it?’ she croaks.
Then she sees the angel.
“Oh well, I am coming,” she says turning into a very black cat.
“Who can say ‘No’ to an angel? Even when it is such a young and foolish one.”

The East is dressed in leaves and as slender as a birch tree.
Her lullaby is the song of the wind.

It reminds Luna of dancing with bare feet in wet grass.
Of her mother’s arms.
Of the light of the sun.
The scent of flowers.
And of being young, so young.

She falls asleep, the angel above her head
and the music like dew on her skin,
and when she wakes Rahmiel takes her hand
and they head North.