I'd be happy to go to a farm? We're quite good at math, we rather have to be.

She giggles. Going to a farm is not the thing.

In that case I suppose I am out of luck.

Well, you can basically try to look very ordinary-for-wherever-you-are, so people won't give you a second thought until you actually address them; or you can look like you are a completely unfamiliar kind of powerful thing, which you are, and people will fall back on assuming you're probably whatever you say you are or at least they'd better play along.

I suppose maybe if one grows up in your world they become accustomed to the thought that less powerful things will play along in self-preservation, but it is not very appealing.

Yeah, um. You don't have a lot of options to present as both as powerful and as nice as you are in local schema. There are things that are nice and powerful but they mostly rely on people getting to know them individually and not on looking that way.

Which is sensible, if such appearances are easily imitated. We're rather still figuring out how to make this world good and happy, for the time being I shall confine myself to that.

Sounds like a good idea.

And figuring out magic, Rúmil says. I expect that to occupy us.

Yeah.

The lights change. Olórin drifts away humming to himself.

Do you want a lift back to the palace? Bella asks Rúmil.

Love one. Thank you.

So she bounces him back into the courtyard and then goes to sleep on her squashy spot.

He wanders through the city. He can't see the labels, but he can hear his people as they learn to read.