“It took him a long time, but eventually the druid earned the trust of his young companion and was able to teach him certain things. Wolf-child learned to keep himself clean, not in the way a wolf does, by licking or rolling or swimming, but by the use of a cloth and a bucket. The boy learned to drink from a cup and eat from a platter, though he was awkward with a knife or spoon. He learned to sit on a bench, but preferred the floor. The druid encouraged him to stand more upright, to walk on two legs not four, and was partly successful. As for human speech, that was far harder. The druid sensed the boy could understand quite well, but Wolf-child found shaping words with his mouth difficult. One word he learned easily. He would stand by the gate, a gate fastened by an iron chain which his wolfish fingers could not manipulate open, and point toward the forest. ‘Out,’ he would say, his tone somewhere between speech and barking. ‘Out.’ ”

It seemed to me this story was not going to have a happy ending. I was not sure I wanted to hear the rest of it, but I was not in the best position to slip out of the hall unnoticed without offending Willow. There was no fault in her storytelling. I just wasn’t in the right mood to hear something sad. With Mother lying upstairs so desperate to hold onto her unborn child, and Father looking so weary and grim, I could do without a tale of a boy who was unlikely to do well in either world, that of well-meaning, ignorant humankind or of animals governed by their instincts. I glanced toward the main door as Aidan brought Willow a cup of ale. Maybe I could take advantage of this pause to vanish outside until the story was finished. As my gaze fell on Cathal my heart missed a beat. Stark and plain on that narrow, guarded face I saw the wretched aloneness of the wolf boy. I saw his recognition that he would always be outside, other, never quite a part of the community on whose fringes he dwelt. I saw that it hurt beyond any pain.

A moment later, Cathal realized I was looking at him. With what must have been a formidable effort of will, he relaxed his features, the thin lips forming their usual derisory smile, the expression conveying nothing more than a general desire to be somewhere else. The dark brows rose as if to question my apparent interest in him. I imagined him saying, Haven’t you got anything better to look at?