They had been making tea.
Well, Calla had, Maura had been too busy watching the flower blossoming in the garden. The first days of spring, when Gwellinian chanted old songs in dead languages and Artemus came out from the trees, shaking them, making the flowers fall in a storm of pink and white.
Calla had been making tea. She had been waiting for a while. Not for Spring.
It was a call she had received a while before from someone they had all been waiting for, from someone Maura had been waiting with her heart open in her hands.
The door opened with a creek and as the man came in petals followed him and a soft breeze entered the room; Maura looked inside, out of curiosity more than out of real interested, and she found herself holding her breath and smiling.
«I’m home» said the Grey Man, said Dean Allen «Can I stay?»