The tinker halted at the foot of the mountain and looked up. High above the meadows on the lower slopes, the grass was tough and spiky. Huge grey boulders punctuated the rough surface. Around the summit, exposed to the wind, ice clung to the rocks, and snow glittered in the gullies.

    Not long now. Soon he would be there.

    The tinker tapped the top of the wide-brimmed hat angled across his forehead and took a deep breath. A few strands of straggling black hair fell down on to the nape of his neck. Bright eyes illuminated the dark face. Taking a firm grip on his knapsack, he began the slow ascent.

    Grey clouds had begun to heap themselves around the tops of even the smaller hills. A thin drizzle enveloped the surrounding countryside, and a mist descended over all. The tinker pulled his collar up and his hat down, hunched his shoulders and pressed on. The wind buffeted and numbed his face and ears.

    Then, sensing that he was close, he quickened his pace, peering at the rocks looming ahead.

    An enormous boulder rose up out of the mist. The tinker skirted it and, sheltered from the wind, spied two more boulders. At the base of these nestled the pool he had been looking for. The other pools reflected the iron-grey sky. This pool was golden and shot through with light. The sunbeams, dancing beneath the surface, mocked the joyless day.

    A year before, in bright sunshine, he had stumbled across this same pool. A deep ebon blackness set it apart from its neighbours. He had looked down into it. Pinpoints of light gleamed beneath its surface. He had realised with a shock that they were stars.

  What strange skies did the pool reflect?