Many realms lie in layers upon this world. Unlike some countries -- that share walls, borders, or bodies of water -- realms like the Otherworld actually occupy the same space as that in any world. But where a hillfort may have been built at Caer Uisc, the same hilltop may instead boast a stone tower erected for a sun deity or protect a barrow inhabited by the Fair Folk.

In the Britain that Peredur knows, there is a lowland hereabouts in the lake country of Rheged. The Otherworld's counterpart is where the Red Knight and the Gododdin princess find Dathyl's llyn. Still shivering from his recent dunk in the cold river, Peredur walks quickly down the valley's steep hillside, moving briskly and generate heat. It's a challenge to do so with Dathyl guiding them. For a little egret-shaped fellow, he makes great strides with his long legs, his toes barely alighting upon the turf as he lopes on his way. "Creirwy's Way makes frequent bends," Arianwen observes aloud, trying to keep communication with their little shepherd, lest he prove as elusive as the ellyllon and his followers must follow him by voice alone.

"Bends, bends, yes," Dathyl agrees dismissively, seeming to consider the frying of bigger fish. "Bends, Angharad, and abrupt endings," he adds, stopping them at the llyn's north end.

"What about the horses?" Peredur wonders, pulling Cryf behind him as Angharad dismounts her healed roan.

"What of them?" Dathyl blinks. Seeing him up close for the first time, Peredur observes how his little shriveled face is permanently fixed in a purple grimace and bearded with pleated fluff, like the underside of a mushroom.

"How will they make it across the llyn to Caer Siddi?"

Angharad knows Dathyl's answer before he can make it. "They will cross on the boat of course," she says to her young hero, giving his damp hair a tousle.

"Indeed they will!" Dathyl's eyes twinkle with glee; gladder than ever before to have so wise a mortal paying a visit. "You know the barges of the Tylwyth Teg, do you?"

"I have seen them," Angharad remembers a moment before quickly adding, "in my dreams, is all."

"Consider yourself blessed, Mooncalf," Dathyl frowns at Peredur, "to have one so favoured by the Teg as your companion."

Peredur couldn't give a broken spancel whether Arianwen was noble-born, faery-born, or born a milkmaid's fatherless brat. She was Arianwen. Arianwan. And she was perfect in his sight. The boy from Cwm Dyfrdwy takes no notice of the jewelled, glass barque emerging from the eldritch mists; instead he slips the silver-haired girl's hand into his own, entwining his fingers with hers.

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llyn - lake
Tylwyth Teg - Fair Folk