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On Summer Summer claims that she is synonymous with life, though what that means is unclear since the meaning of life in Faerie, as in other lands, is a matter of circumspect debate. What can be established without doubt is the insatiable appetite of Summer for stimulation, which serves to remind her incessantly that, whatever life may be, it goes without notice unless it itches and prompts one to scratch at it. In Faerie, summer assumes a gigantic form and treads with strides the length of fields across the lands, surveying her domain. Her favorite subjects are not the endless meadows of thistle and sunflowers, nor the flocks of goldfinches that fly whimsically above them, nor the plagues of locusts that sporadically darken the skies above them. Nor do stately oaks most curry her favor, nor the weeping willow leaning over streams, nor the cherry who have fruited ere the end of May. Loved beyond even these treasures are the faeries, tiny beings, who have found such joy in the gardens of Summer, that they choose not to leave this magic-saturated paradise, preferring instead to spend their time weaving a substance known among them as narkrïmá, spun from equal parts flax, spider's silk and ether. With this delicate material, they repair the petals of flowers, damaged by the passing of Summer in her enormous guise. Narkrïmá can also be used to mend frayed heartstrings, splice severed strands of fate and rejoin threads of time, which have by dint of misfortune become unraveled. 
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