Folk came to consult me, at first warily, then, as the word spread, with more confidence. People have a natural fear of a wise woman – the taint of magic hangs over my kind, a remnant of a time when we did more than prepare herbal remedies, strap up broken limbs and help women give birth. The need to see so many people and to stay courteous left me ill-tempered and weary at the end of the day. Grim was good at having a brew ready when I needed it.

But the sleeping arrangements soon became a problem. Me in the cottage, him in the outhouse – it had sounded all right to me, for as long as he hung around. We’d been there some while when I got up in the night, went out the back to relieve myself and fell over Grim, who was rolled up in a blanket, sleeping across the cottage doorway. He woke with a start, apologised and headed off to the outhouse before I could say a word.

The next morning he was up and working before I stirred. I didn’t ask him about the night before, and he didn’t mention it, but I knew him pretty well after our time locked up together, and I could tell something was bothering him. I could see the signs, though he was working hard not to show them. A clenching and unclenching of the fists; the pulse beating in his temple; his lips moving as if he were constantly having a conversation with himself. Signs I hadn’t seen for a long while. I didn’t want to think about what it meant. If he’d taken himself off after we escaped and gone his own way, I wouldn’t be needing to waste time worrying about him now. I had enough responsibilities with my promises to Conmael, my job to do and the effort of being pleasant to folk I cared nothing about. I didn’t need the big lump of a fellow weighing down my thoughts into the bargain.