I would have helped her, but she waved me away with sudden impatience, calling for her daughter. In the confusion that followed, I found myself out of the cart and seated on the spread-out blanket between Ness and Emer, while Abhan’s mother and sisters assisted the old woman to climb down and go off somewhere to relieve herself. She could walk; indeed, she moved with an ease that belied her apparent state of health.

‘She’s very unwell,’ I said to Emer. ‘There’s not much you can do but ease her symptoms. I’d suggest the mallow root with milkweed root, in an infusion. But make it weak, and stop straight away if it doesn’t agree with her.’ I set out the quantities and method for her; she had a good memory, and could be relied upon to get it right.

‘What about later?’ Ness asked. ‘When we’re away from here and on the road south? She’ll still need the draught, won’t she?’

I could not bring myself to say it outright. I glanced at Emer, hoping her intuition would serve her well. I would not have an opportunity to speak to her alone and tell her the old woman’s time was running short indeed. ‘No need to worry about that yet,’ I said.

The day had darkened still further; was that a drop of rain? I did want to hear the story. It had teased at me for a long time. I did want to know if there was a secret to Dreamer’s Pool. On the other hand, if I did not move on now I’d probably get soaked before I reached a spot to camp for the night, and that was not a wise way to start a long journey. Besides, now that Flidais had revealed the truth, sordid and mundane as it was, what was the point in entertaining the idea of some kind of magical transformation? Flidais was the way she was because Oran had hurt and frightened her. Not that she had ever been the woman of those sweetly romantic letters. I had sympathy for the girl’s plight, but I could not believe she had written them herself. Oran’s brutality toward her had perhaps been born, in part, from disappointment. She cannot give me what I expected, but at least she can give me this. The whole thing disgusted me. So, forget the pig story, whatever it was. Get up, make my farewells and move on. South. Mathuin. Justice.

‘Brew?’

The voice was unmistakable. And there he was, standing beside our blanket with a steaming cup in his hand. How such a big man could move so softly I had never been able to understand.