And there is Silverbranch. It is not so far, on dragonback, only a few hours.
Eventually she comes out again, with a single elf who strongly resembles her following.
"Beloved, this is my mother Rania," she says.
"I See you," says Rania to the dragon. "But - not all of you, if I understand rightly." She looks around.
"That is true," the dragon says gravely. "The rest of me is waiting until he might be made welcome without alarming anyone."
"Isibel has been unharmed this long," says Rania. "I will not be alarmed. But perhaps it would be prudent to travel farther from the village," and she indicates a direction.
The dragon nods, which is something of a momentous event considering the size of the dragon's head, and he ambles off in the indicated direction.
"We will be unobserved here," Rania eventually says.
"It is more startling to see with my own eyes what I had previously heard only as a story," she murmurs. (She resolutely keeps her gaze above the waist.)
Isibel goes to her beloved and puts her head on his shoulder. She thinks that her mother would prefer it if he were wearing pants, although Rania would never dream of drawing attention to the fact that he is not.
He shrugs and stretches his wings and conjures himself a pair of comfortable trousers with a hole for his tail.
"I am told that you have no names," she says to the demon and dragon.
"None have been needed among ourselves," says Isibel.
"It might be convenient to have some, now that we know more people," says the demon, "but we haven't thought of any that we like."
Isibel can tell, and shares with her beloveds: Rania would just love to name them.
"Ansharil," the dragon says thoughtfully. "Yes. Those will do."
"I never expected you to Bond with a dragon even given the chance, Isibel," Rania says to her daughter.
"Nor did I," Isibel murmurs. "There was great need."
Isibel prompts him to go ahead and do so when Rania's hints are too subtle.
He touches his fingers to the ground and grows a little tree with a slender silvery trunk and thin drooping branches, which produces little round pink fruits when it is not quite as tall as he is. Its thin pointed leaves make a very pretty rustling sound when he brushes past them.
Isibel picks a fruit and wonders if she can taste it; she likes fruits her beloved invents.