The gate of the Ashgrove school is iron and too tall, and the man leaning against it has been there long enough for the cold to settle in his coat. He does not straighten when you come up the path. He looks at the husk behind you first, then at your hands, then at your face, in that order.
"You are the intake."
It is not a question, and he does not make it one.
"There is a thing in the courtyard that has been eating the light since six. It is not dangerous and it is not patient. Come and look at it before Perceval decides what you are."
He pushes off the gate and walks without checking whether you follow.