She had dived into the loch when the sun was at its zenith in the sky. It had now set behind the hills, leaving only a vestige of light on the horizon. The stars were winking overhead, and Sidra pushed herself to stand on shaky legs.

How much time had she lost? How many days had passed?

The panic coursed through her as she began to hurry home. She noticed that the effect of the Orenna flower had faded, zapping her energy. She could no longer see the spirit realm, and her head began to viciously ache.

The earth spirits must have felt compassion for her, although Sidra was reluctant to trust them. But five hills became one. The kilometers compressed, and the rocks receded, granting her a swift path to the croft.

She decided she should go directly to Graeme’s. She knew her father-in-law would be worried over her lengthy absence, but then she noticed the firelight illuminating her house from within.

Sidra paused, wondering who was home. Following the light, she entered through the back door.

Torin sat at the table, waiting for Sidra to come home.

He had been waiting for a full hour now. Weary and heartsick from a long day of searching, he had gone to Graeme’s at dusk, his arms aching to hold Sidra.

She wasn’t there.

His father rambled anxiously, claiming she had gone home to fetch her herbs at noontide and had never returned. Adaira had even called that afternoon to visit with her, but Sidra had been absent and Graeme could only surmise that she had been summoned to help a patient.

Torin had swallowed his panic and rushed down the hill, only to find a cold, dark cottage full of untouched food.

He didn’t know where she had gone, but he imagined she was searching for Maisie. He had seen the determination in her eyes when they had parted ways earlier, how his sharp orders had upset her. Torin was so exhausted now that he decided he should simply wait on her to return. Surely, the night would drive her back home. And he was so tired of searching.

He lit a candle.

He stared at her herbs, scattered on the table, an utter mystery to him.

He stared at Maisie’s toys, tucked away in a basket by the hearth. He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of them.

The kittens were crying at the back door. Torin ground his teeth and poured a dish of milk, setting it on the stoop for the cats.

He paced the chamber but eventually sat again. He hadn’t slept in two days. He could hardly see straight, and he knew he had run himself ragged that afternoon.

My daughter is missing.

It still didn’t feel true. This happened to others, not to him.

You thought the same when Donella died, didn’t you?