Nanny has an entirely opaque view of the subject. “There are too many breezes in the air to know why the seed of a tree falls and takes root here and not there,” she said to Elphie. “Your father insists the Unnamed God has taken coordinates of every hillside known to geography, and has selected the precise spot for each germination. I am not so faithful. If someone sneaky pulls a trick, maybe a hex magicked the impulse into that sneaky someone.” She pulls a face at Elphie. “I mind my p’s and q’s and I don’t make blanket assertions like your father does. Praise Lurline for sensibility and sense.”
This is too abstruse for Elphie. She is sharp, yes, and by now she’s more verbal than her peers might be, if she were to have any; but she is only seven or eight years old. She makes wishes on falling stars still. She trusts the world that much.