Since I had no answer to this, I gave him a little of his own treatment, responding with a shrug. Becan had fallen asleep against my shoulder. His shawls were damp, and so were his swaddling cloths. “Curse it,” I said. “I’m going to have to wash these.”

“Eat first,” Cathal said.

“Where did you pick the mushrooms?” I asked. “We shouldn’t eat anything from here, that’s one of the rules.”

“Or?”

“Or we have to stay in the Otherworld forever.” Gods, it smelled good.

“I had them in my pack before we crossed over,” Cathal said. “Savor every mouthful; if you’re right about the food here, we’ll be on limited rations until we get back across. How long do you think this will take? And what about him?” He nodded toward the sleeping child. I had placed Becan on the ground while I took off the cloak and donned the shirt over my damp small-clothes. Under the circumstances, the best I could do for modesty was to turn my back and hope Cathal wasn’t looking.

“He seems to thrive on the honey water,” I said. “I can fill my water-skin from the streams on this side. I can’t see any reason why Becan shouldn’t partake of Otherworld food. I don’t know how long the journey will take. Not too long, I hope. My mother is fading fast; she needs Finbar back.”

“It suits you,” Cathal observed as I finished fastening the cords on his shirt and turned to face him. The garment was of good quality wool, warm and light. It came down to my knees.

I tried to imagine how I looked. My hand went to my face, touching the welts gingerly. “I’m going to have scars, aren’t I?” I asked.

“Think of it as adding character.”

I grimaced. “To my boring face? Oh well, I suppose that’s the least of my worries right now. Cathal, I should go back to the river to wash these shawls.”

“Does it really matter if he’s wet or smells a bit? It’s not as if he’s a flesh and blood child, after all. He seems more plant than baby to me. It’s natural for plants to be wet.”