He made a sound, something close to yes. Nodded again, in case it wasn’t clear enough. Then they found him this hut and a few bits and pieces, and he tried to settle in. Waited for them to find a helper. So far it hadn’t happened, and that was no surprise. Who’d want to come and work on this? Who’d want to work for a man like the master?

Now, lying on his straw pallet in the meagre shelter, he remembers Tóla with dark hair, not grey. A smoother face, fewer lines. A straighter back, squarer shoulders. Gormán, too, is older now, but with him it’s more of a weathering. Like an oak that broadens and deepens and grows stronger with the storms of winter on winter. Master Tóla has his storm inside. An angry storm, churning away in his vitals, hollowing him out. Was he like that back in the old days? Back when Bardán’s hands were strong and straight and nimble-fingered? Back when his world was whole?

The night is cold. The woollen blanket itches his skin; the walls close him in. By moonlight he makes his way outside, digs out a hollow, gathers pine needles, dry and fragrant. He burrows down; covers himself as best he can. Under the trees, under the night sky, he can feel the heartbeat of the forest. Here, he is not quite alone.

Chapter Five: Grim

5

~Grim~

Not sure what I’m getting myself into. Don’t want to leave Blackthorn on her own after last night. She’s edgy. Stayed awake, staring into the dark. She didn’t want to talk. I sat up and kept her company, made a brew or two, waited out the night with her.

I ask her if she wants me to stay home. She says no, quite snappish. Hates to look weak. At least Emer’s coming, so she won’t be all by herself. That girl too, the one from Wolf Glen.

I’m away early, get a horse from Scannal’s, head off up there. Not knowing what to expect. Never been to the place before, but I’ve heard plenty about the ride. Big forest, a lot of it pine, some of it different trees all mixed up together. Most I know the names of. Some I don’t. In the deepest parts the trees are like gnarled old giants. Place is all winding tracks that go back on themselves. Sudden dips, steep hills, rocks where you don’t expect them. Patches where you’d go into mud up to your knees if you didn’t watch out. Glad I chose Sturdy. Cart horse, not a riding horse, but steady and strong. Good horse for a big man. Ripple runs beside, keeping away from Sturdy’s hooves. Likes a run, Ripple does. I’ll say one thing for that bastard Flannan, he trained his dog well.