July 30th, 1893 — Avalon Glen, Wales

She had not actually known this village existed until she had received word from the Glen, and the Floo in her brother's house had hesitated as if to say are you sure? when she had given her direction. But Nell Brierley had had her invitation in hand (apparently a requisite for newcomers), and so she stepped out of the flames and into the high-ceilinged pub in time to hear the clock chime two.

Precisely on schedule, the witch thought with satisfaction.

A nod of greeting at the barkeep who raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar face but did not harry her as she moved to the door, stepping out onto the narrow street. Now what? Nell wondered. She was dressed as she often was for the field: men's breeches, well-worn boots, and a comfortable shirt, though she had donned a fitted tweed jacket for the sake of making a good first impression. Her hair was tied back in a single plait and a pair of gloves was clipped to her belt. She was as ready as she was going to be.

Except for, you know, not knowing where to go next.

— Howell Howell —

  

He’d been early enough, stopping in to see Pryce and then waiting a little down the lane with Barry in tow – but he had glanced at the unfamiliar woman and then averted his gaze for a good thirty seconds before his brains kicked in.

“Professor Brierley, is it?” Howell said, lurching belatedly towards her. Madoc Yarwood had written that note about the professor, but had never mentioned they’d be a she. Not that it mattered, but – it might’ve been nice to have some warning. (He’d have sent someone else along to talk to her, maybe, Mari or Lamb or... well, anyone.)

“Howell,” he added, gesturing briefly at himself in introduction. He avoided shaking her hand, and forgot to ask any of the chat he ought to have – instead, he scratched the back of his head and whistled for Barry, who’d squeezed through the hedge on the lane. Barry bounded back onto the lane and Howell nodded ahead of them, already starting to march on. “S’this way.”

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   Elenora Brierley

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Her smile at the address faltered as the man all but dismissed her. He seemed more interested in scratching his own head than shaking her hand, and Nell for a moment thought that this could not possibly be the Mr. Howell with whom she had been corresponding, the Head Dragonkeeper that Mr. Yarwood had written highly of. Indeed, even the dog that had trotted off ahead seemed more interested in her presence—at least the canine had glanced briefly in her direction.

Nell hastened to close the gap between herself and the keeper, long legs making it easier.

"Do you find it difficult, having a village so near?" she inquired benignly. If Mr. Howell was not to observe the usual niceties of conversation, she might as well ignore them too, jump straight to the reason for her visit. The witch had other questions, of course, but was quickly gathering that Mr. Howell was a man of few words, and if she asked them in succession, well, she'd be lucky to get one of them answered, nevermind them all.

— Howell Howell —

  

“Not really,” Howell said, gaze drifting sidelong just enough to be sure she was keeping up – she was – and then looking out ahead at the rising hills again. It wasn’t a busy place, the valley being unplottable, and it was about the best place they could manage in Britain.

“The Welsh Greens are shyer than most. They keep to themselves well enough.” Howell didn’t blame them, either; nor did he blame the local magical population from keeping away from the reserve. Smart people stayed away from dragons, generally.

He half-wanted to ask about the reservation she’d visited before, about their set-up, but he presumed she wasn’t yet finished interrogating him. After all, it was a long way to come for one question.

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   Elenora Brierley

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Shyer than most dragons doesn't say a great deal, Nell wanted to say, but did not think that this Howell likely to do more in response than make some sort of vague sound of dismissal. It was a shame Mr. Yarwood himself had not been available; he had been professional in his letters, but certainly more... effusive.

"Is proximity and the nature of the dragons the only... barrier, for lack of a better word, to undesirable interaction with humans?" the witch asked instead. The smile that accompanied her inquiry was small, not quite forced, but clearly designed to encourage more detailed responses from the dragonkeeper. It was not essential that Howell like her, of course, but it would make the day a great deal easier—not to mention any further interaction Nell might have with Avalon Glen.

— Howell Howell —

  

“There are wards, too,” Howell conceded, always a little suspicious of a stranger’s intentions when anyone visited. “Magical. Yarwood’s project. You’ll feel them as we go.” He presumed; since he spent all his time in the Glen, he was mostly immune.

What else could he say? She already knew about the fact this was unplottable; she’d had to, to get here. He gestured at the dog. “And Barry’s pretty good at tracking down any strays.” (Stray humans, that was.)

“When do you go to the school, then?” Howell asked, unwillingly, in turn.

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She might have asked who this Barry was, but he stymied any further questions by asking one of her own. Nell was not certain whether this was by design or simply to be delight, but Howell seemed... reluctant enough to engage with her that she was eager to encourage any conversation in which he was willing to partake. The witch had felt like an imposition in writing to Mr. Yarwood, but the gentleman had quickly dispelled that feeling. Howell, on the other hand, had managed no such thing, and seemed not at all inclined to do so.

"I attended Hogwarts," came her answer, "but I think it to have been the least meaningful piece of my education. I spent..." Nell paused for a moment, doing the maths, "just about thirteen years abroad, First as a research assistant, then as a researcher in my own right—and a bit of translating, when needed to fund my expeditions."

In different company, Nell might have returned the same question, but had spent enough time amongst the working class to know that formal education was far from a foregone conclusion.

— Howell Howell —

  

She talked a lot, didn’t she? It felt that way to Howell, for whom the number of steps he was taking versus seconds of silence on this walk felt aggressively disproportioned. The other dragonkeepers and the usual Glen folk knew what to expect from him. He wasn’t used to this.

“And you’ve a particular interest in dragons?” Howell continued, because he didn’t know exactly what her research had entailed – she had said something about Chinese Fireballs, in her letters, so he knew she had some prior learning of dragons – but he knew she was headed back to the school to take up some teaching position there.

None of that explained why she was here. (He didn’t like meddlers, especially, so he was wary of this.)

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   Aldous Crouch

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"Creatures of all sorts," she corrected, "in particular how native species interact with their environment."

This Howell was not the most taciturn man that Nell had ever encountered, though where speakers of English were concerned, he was likely in competition for the title.

"How long have you worked here in Avalon Glen?" the witch asked, genuinely curious. Mr. Yarwood's letter had suggested a great deal of confidence in the man.

— Howell Howell —

  

“Ah.” So – Welsh Greens. Wales. It made some sense that she’d come here.

He’d rather she’d have asked about the Greens or the Glen than after him, but – he squared his shoulders anyway. “Since Yarwood started – restarted – the place. Twenty years,” he added unwillingly; more because he didn’t know where the time had gone than because he was sorry about it. He was rather proud of it, actually. (He might be a stick in the mud around the place – but if he’d been in said mud for two decades, good luck to anyone else getting him out of here.)

“My granddad was one too, a dragonkeeper here,” he added, mumbling the more the longer he felt forced to talk about himself. “Just up on this track,” he added, much more loudly; “– round the corner, you should see one or two of ‘em down in the valley.”

There: once she actually saw the dragons, he’d have a better measure of her.

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