Finally the weather was right, low-hanging clouds wreathing the mountain.
Yann took a deep breath of the cold, still air, and took a step. The cloud carried her.
Her boots, coat, and mitts were seasilk, quilted with a filling of arctic tern feathers, finding a seam in the laws of nature where water and air were concerned, and opening the way into a secret chamber.
For a short time, Yann walked this way and that. The cloud gave, a little like snow, but entirely silently, not the slightest bit of crunch.
But she was here for a reason.
The knife made from albatross bone was infinitely fragile, and cut through the cloud like through soft butter. Yann grinned, feeling confirmed the story saying it would make clouds solid. She cut out a rectangular block.
It was fascinating. After forcing herself to sheathe the knife with great care, she played with the block. It seemed weightless, hanging in the air when she let it go. She pulled off one mitt and reached out; the block felt cool to the touch, but solid like wood.
A quick look around to make sure the cloud she was standing on was not being whisked away by wind or evaporated by the sun, and she continued work: Mitt back on, first brick on a net, cut out the next.
She would have her castle in the air eventually. Or at least a house.