“Thank you,” she smiles at the hand.
Strauss takes the apple from her, returning it to the pile. “I would advise against it, m'lady.”
“Oh. Why?”
“While every apple may not be poisoned, there are enough poisoned apples here in the Weave that it may be.”
They pass through the market, passing golden swords, giant horns, teeth the size of men, helmets covered with LEDs and tiny antenna, creatures in cages with six arms and beaks, fish with wings zipping round giant birdcages, fabrics that shimmer or sparkle or aren't really there, and everywhere they go, the smells of cooking food.
Realising how hungry she is, “Can I eat anything here?” Fiona asks Strauss.
“Of course,” he replies, “Just avoid the food of legends.”
