My tears began to flow again at that, but the hurt was different now.

Weep, dear one. Our love wraps you like a blanket. Our strength is yours, and yours keeps our hope alive.

The forest holds you in its hand. This was another voice, Conor’s. The pathway opens before you. The rest of them had fallen silent, sensing maybe that dawn was coming, and something was happening that was more vital than any plans they might make.

What—what do you see for me? It took a great effort of will to ask. What will happen to me, Finbar? This time, show me.

There was an image, broken up, hard to discern. A girl, myself I supposed, drifting in a little boat. An owl hooting. Or was that here and now, not part of the mind picture? A pair of hands, holding a little knife, carving a tiny block of wood. A fire burning green and purple and orange. The picture faded and was gone. Whether that was all Finbar saw, or whether he closed off the remainder, I did not know. And through all that time, he never spoke one word aloud, but sat there with head in hands, as if in a trance.

Soon enough the first trace of dawn gray touched the sky, and it was almost time for them to go. My breathing was quiet, my body more rested although there was still a deep aching there. My head was filled with brightness, scraps of hero tales, pictures of our childhood, a bastion of loving memories to keep out the shadows. Finbar let no evil thought or ugly image touch me. I lay still in my blanket, and now the lightening sky seemed gentle, and the canopy of trees benign. I heard an owl’s voice calling again through the still dawn, and it touched my spirit deep within. My brothers sat silent and grim faced around the last embers of the fire.

“Sorcha.” Conor spoke aloud this time, so they could all hear. “There is one choice none of us has spoken of. I want to put it to you.” I found I was able to sit up and nod my understanding. The grip on my mind relaxed just a little; but still Finbar held me safe. I glanced at him across the circle. My brother’s face shocked me; he was parchment white, and there were deep purple shadows beneath his eyes. He looked like an old man, or one who has spent a night with the Fair Folk and will never quite be himself again.

It’s all right, Sorcha. Listen to Conor. Finbar did not move a muscle.

“We’ve all thought of it, I have no doubt; but none of us was prepared to say it, though Cormack came close, I think. I want you to decide, Sorcha. You must take your time, and make the choice for yourself, not for us.”

Liam took over. “Don’t talk in riddles, Conor. This must be said in plain words. Sorcha, what he’s trying to say is that maybe this is the point where the task should be abandoned. To me at least, the cost now seems too great. Each of us would gladly give up his chance of the future in return for your safety.”