“What does he fear?” Sidra thought she knew the answer, but she decided to ask it, knowing Donella had insight she didn’t.

“He is afraid of losing you, first in heart, then in body. And if you follow me to the grave, he will not be far behind you. His soul has found its counterpart in yours, and he belongs with you, even after Death’s sting.”

Sidra flushed, her blood coursing through her. She let a moment pass before she whispered, “I don’t know if he wants to stay with me. I can’t . . . I can’t even heal him when he needs me the most.”

“You must heal yourself first, Sidra,” Donella said.

Sidra, wide eyed, stared at the ghost. Without another word, Donella evanesced with a sigh.

She decided she couldn’t bear to dwell on those parting words. Sidra made a second breakfast, which Torin was thankful for. They ate in the sunlight on the back stoop, watching the kittens scurry across the garden path.

“I’ll find a home for them soon,” Sidra said, ignoring the welt in her throat.

Torin touched her knee. No, they’re fine, she read in his hand, in his eyes.

She nodded, and they remained there a while longer, quiet and warmed by the sun.

When Adaira came for Torin, Sidra stood in the front yard with Yirr, watching them depart. Their entourage soon melted into the hills, pressing north, and Sidra stood like a statue until the afternoon brought an unexpected squall.

The rain dampened her dress, brought her to her senses.

She turned to go inside, but the house felt too empty without Maisie and Torin. She didn’t want to wait inside its shell; she wanted to disregard the overwhelming voice in her mind. One that was whispering for her to look inward, to acknowledge her many pieces.

To heal herself.

I’ll go to Graeme’s, she thought, shutting the door and beginning to walk the hill between their crofts, Yirr trotting dutifully behind her. Graeme would be able to distract her with his stories of the mainland.

But she stopped in the heather, her heart pounding.

This was the place where her faith had first cracked. The ground where she had been attacked and had come to know firsthand the sinister ways of the world. And she heard a beloved voice in her mind, as if it were carried on the wind. Her grandmother said, Go to the place where your faith began.

Sidra stood in the storm until the rain hid her tears, and yet she didn’t go to Graeme’s, which would have been the easiest path. She yearned for her grandmother, and she turned and walked south with Yirr, into the mist of the valley.