Turned menacing. Littlest did not know exactly what it meant, but she knew it was very, very bad. Those who turned menacing disappeared. Well, not disappeared. They still existed. But they were no longer part of the community of dream-givers. They had gone someplace else. Someplace frightening. Maybe even evil.
"Why do some of us turn menacing?" she whispered.
They were at the entrance to their assigned house, the little house with geranium-filled window boxes and the rocker on the porch, the place where the woman lived. In a minute they would enter, compressing themselves and sliding in through the space under the front door. Thin Elderly reached over and took Littlest's hand. The timing of her question was unfortunate, he thought, because they were about to start their night's work. But he was responsible now for her teaching.
"It just happens," he told her in a low voice. "We are not certain why. Some think it is because they have touched things too deeply. You must be aware of that. During the touching, be gentle. Do not delve."
"What is delve?" she whispered.
He tried to think of a way to explain the unexplainable. "You've learned touching, right?'
She nodded.
"You've been touching in here, correct?" He gestured toward the house they were about to enter. "Take your thumb out of your mouth."
Littlest removed her thumb reluctantly. "Yes," she said. "Lots. This house is filled with things."
"Good. My last house, the one I just traded to Fastidious, had so little. Flat empty tabletops. A lot of glass and steel. A crystal vase with a single flower? What an impersonal feel to it! It was very unreceptive to touching."
"You'll love this one," Littlest assured him.
"Give me an example of something you've been touching."
She concentrated on remembering her nights of gliding silently through the woman's house. "There are photographs," she said. "I like those. They're in frames, on tables in the parlor. And one beside her bed, but I haven't been allowed to touch there yet. Too dangerous."
Thin Elderly nodded. "Yes, you're a little noisy. Fastidious was wise not to let you too close yet."
"I'll have to be close, when I bestow," Littlest pointed out.
"Eventually. But you're still learning. Describe touching a photograph."
"Well, there's one I especially like. I'll show you when we're inside. It shows a man in a uniform, smiling. He has a very pleasant face."
"All right. And so you touch his picture—how?"
"Like this." Littlest raised one small hand and touched Thin Elderly very gently. She let her fingers flutter and linger, but the touch was barely perceptible.
Thin Elderly smiled. "Good!" he told her. "You have a gossamer touch."
Littlest looked at her own fingers and smiled proudly.
"Fastidious taught you well about touching. Tell me what happens when you touch the man's photograph."
Littlest thought. "I collect little—" She paused. "I can't remember what they're called."
"They can be called anything. I like to call them fragments," Thin Elderly told her.
She nodded. "I collect fragments. I store them inside myself. They make me feel good. There's a fragment of a party, and the man is laughing. There's a bit of dancing. And there's a—"
She paused, blushing, and giggled.
"Shhh," Thin Elderly reminded her.
Littlest One covered her mouth and stifled her own giggle. "There's a kiss," she said. "Well, a fragment of a kiss. I always like to collect that."
"All right," Thin Elderly told her. "It sounds as if you are quite good at touching and collecting. But here is what you must guard against. Always remember this." He leaned toward her and spoke very seriously.
"Delving means touching too deeply. Pressing your hand instead of using that lovely light flickering touch you just showed me. It sometimes happens unintentionally, when dream-givers become too interested in what they're touching. When they start to like it too much."
"Like the kiss?" Littlest whispered.
"Possibly. Never linger and press, because everything has a menacing underside. If you begin to pick up the menacing pieces..." He sighed.
"Even by mistake?" Littlest asked.
Thin Elderly nodded. "It's what happened to Rotund. He pressed and delved. Some of us could see it was happening. We tried to warn him, but—"
Littlest sighed. "Then he disappeared."
"Well, he had to go away. He became something else. You can't be a dream-giver when you become consumed by the dark side, the menace."
"What did he become, then?"
Thin Elderly shuddered. "Promise me you won't talk about this in the Heap."
"I won't. Cross my heart." Littlest touched her own pale wisp of a chest.
"The term is"—he lowered his voice and whispered the word—"Sinisteed. Don't ever say it aloud."
She looked puzzled. "Steed means 'horse,' doesn't it? I touched a picture of a beautiful horse in the woman's house."
"It's horselike," he acknowledged. "Four legs. Quite powerful. It stamps the earth, and the nostrils quiver. That's what Rotund is now. And others.
"But there is no beauty to it," he added. "It's hideous."
Littlest trembled a little. "Can it bestow?" she asked.
Thin Elderly gave a scornful laugh. "We bestow dreams," he reminded her. "But a..."—again his voice dropped to a whisper—"Sinisteed?" He pondered for a moment.
Then he said, "It inflicts."
"Inflicts?"
"Inflicts something called nightmares."
They remained silent for a moment. Littlest, glancing sideways to be certain he wasn't looking, slid her thumb into her mouth again.
Finally he sighed. "Better get going. We have work to do. Mustn't delay. Fastidious told me about the woman. She needs a dream, and I haven't collected anything yet."
He looked down at Littlest. She withdrew her thumb.
"I have a lot of fragments," she told him, "but she never let me bestow."
"Well," Thin Elderly said, "time you learned, I guess. You say you have a party? And a kiss?"