First brother gets out the rest of the cheese from his pocket and gives it to the boar, and they all walk home. He doesn’t put the boar back in the fattening sty, but out in the field with the sows, who greet him like a long lost hero. By the next day, that boar’s doing what he’s supposed to do with the ladies, and folk start talking about roasting a sheep for the midwinter feast. As for the second brother’s sudden return to himself, everyone welcomes it, but nobody talks about it. The brothers don’t tell the whole story to many. Only the local wise woman, and their mother, and later their wives. But after that day, folk go carefully in Dreamer’s Wood. And they make sure they never set foot – or trotter – in the water of Dreamer’s Pool.

It’s a good tale, if odd, and the old lady tells it well. Has to stop and cough now and then, and folk wait for her to take a drink and collect herself. Sounds too poorly to be out of bed. But it’s plain she wants to be here by the fire, family all around, sharing the story. Comes to me that if I was dying, this is how I’d like to go. Love, music, family, tales. Not much chance of that.

Blackthorn’s been looking at me on and off during the story, and me at her, both of us trying to work out if it’s any help to us. Later on, when the travelling folk are abed and the fire’s died down, we talk about it. They’ve moved things around to make space for us in a cart. Given us blankets. Rain’s come at last, so we can’t sleep beside the fire.

‘Looks as if our theory’s right,’ Blackthorn says. ‘Maid and mistress changing bodies when they went into Dreamer’s Pool.’

‘Why would she tell that story right now? Isn’t that a bit odd?’

‘I asked her to tell it. When she said she knew the last wise woman, the one before me. I knew there was an old tale about the pool, something about pigs, but nobody else remembered it. Grim, this isn’t much help. Maybe it shows that Ciar and Flidais switched over. But one of them drowned. Taking Flidais for a nice little swim in Dreamer’s Pool can’t bring the dead girl back. As for odd, this is no odder than Conmael telling you I’d be at Silverlake. How could he know what I’d do?’

‘Knows you better than you think. That’d be my guess. Knew you’d want to see Ness again before you left. And Emer.’

Too dark to see Blackthorn’s face, but I bet she’s grimacing at that. ‘I’m not the good person you think I am, Grim. I’m a messy tangle of doubt and hate and anger and bitterness. If Conmael thinks he can make me into something different, he doesn’t know me at all.’