A shortish human, dressed after the fashion of Armethalieh with a pack on his back and several pouches hanging from his belt, opens the door and hesitantly enters the tree.

Isibel opens her eyes when he enters. "I See you."

"Hi," he says, brushing his hair out of his face; it just barely isn't long enough to get in his eyes. "Um, my name's Lycaelon. I'm here to... see if you need any help, and then help you with things. Mageprice," he adds, by way of explanation.

She tilts her head. "To know what help I might receive from someone, it is useful to know what they have to offer, beyond their general magical discipline. Also, I would not want to receive the services of anyone who would rather be elsewhere, and will turn you away if that will satisfy you as well as it would the Wild Magic."

The boy snorts. "I guess you don't know much about Mageprice."

"Only a few things. Enough to know that it does not offer you an informed exchange."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he says, rudely for someone who's been avoiding questioning the elf so far.

She is unfazed. "Wildmages ask for a spell, and get it, in exchange for a task that is revealed only during or after the spell's completion. I do not say the Wild Magic is unfair in its requests, particularly, only that I do not operate as it does and would do my best to avoid taking the services of anyone who did not know they were agreeing to provide them."

"But that's what being a Wildmage is," he says. "If I didn't like it, I could always give up my Books. Or turn to the Dark. I didn't have to come all this way. There's always a choice. Three choices. Once when you do the spell, once when you find out what the price is, and once when it comes time to pay it."

"Very limited choices are not the kind of choices I distribute, when I have the freedom to do otherwise," says Isibel patiently. "Someone held at knifepoint and given orders may also have a choice; I do not wish to be a knife if I can avoid it. Although I do strongly advise against turning to the Dark."

"You're not much of a saint," he observes.

"I did not solicit the title. I only call myself Isibel Sarion."

"I do not know what you have to offer," she points out.

"The Wild Magic didn't send me here just to argue with you about how good at consent it is," he says. "There's something I can help you with. I just don't know what. And there has to be a better way to find out than standing here telling you my life story until you say 'aha! If only you'd mentioned two hours ago that you've been to the Selken Isles!'."

"If you have been there, that may in fact be useful. Much of my time these days is spent in learning what people need, so that I can think of ways to supply it, and there are many sorts of people in the world."

"Yeah, and I've met most of them."

"Then that seems the obvious place to start. I would hear anything you would tell me about what I can do for far-flung peoples I have not yet spoken to."

"This village is not full. It will show you to a place you may stay."

"It will show me?"

"Yes. It will rearrange itself so that where you walk will be the correct direction. I can accompany you, if you prefer."

"That... would be nice," he says, looking slightly unsettled. "Why does the village do that? Did you make it that way? How does it work?"

"I did make it that way. I am unsure what sort of explanation for it you would find satisfactory." She sets her feet on the floor and makes for the door. "You might have noticed that it was not difficult to find my tree."

"Of course it wasn't; I was following my Mageprice," he says, stepping out of the tree.