Fang had been behaving oddly all morning. She would scamper along for a while, then stop dead in her tracks, her whole body tense, her ears pricked. Once or twice this sudden alert was accompanied by a sound, not the customary low growl but a faint whimper. When I bent down to check if she had a thorn in her paw she snapped at me. I walked on, and in a while she was running along beside me as if there were nothing at all out of the ordinary.

“What is your story, little dog?” I asked her. “Another of those that can’t be told?”

She ignored me, but three more times before we came back to the settlement she did it again: the sudden halt, the still, alert pose, as if she had caught a scent she could not ignore. Once the low buildings of the settlement were in sight, Fang seemed to forget whatever it was, racing ahead of me toward the kitchen where Biddy could be relied upon to provide a bowl of tasty leftovers.

Despite the early hour, the dining hall was near full. Men made wagers, discussed strategies and techniques, debated the likely results of each bout. Women offered opinions and exchanged jests as to the relative prowess of their husbands, brothers or sweethearts. Knut was with Kalev at the far table, deep in conversation. If he had had second thoughts about his rash challenge, he showed no sign of unease. I did not see Svala.

There was a small island of quiet where my family sat. Cathal appeared to have finished his breakfast; Clodagh had barely touched hers. He looked as if his mind was elsewhere. She was pale. Gareth and Johnny conversed in murmurs, their attention only on each other. Sam and Brenna were eating their porridge in the purposeful manner of folk who have a full day’s work ahead of them.

I seated myself beside Gull and Evan. Biddy ladled porridge. A steaming bowlful appeared before me, and I realized I had no appetite at all. In my mind, a man was falling, falling from a great height . . . A wave arose, washing him from the rocks, seizing him in its grip, turning him upside down and around about . . . Jaws snatched him, tossing him high; blood filled the air in great drenching sprays . . .

“What’s wrong, Sibeal?” Evan’s murmur broke the vision, and I was at the table once more, my brother-in-law’s steadying hand on my arm.

Breathe. Breathe deeply. “Nothing,” I said as my heart slowed. Falling, falling down . . . faster and faster still . . . “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

“Best eat your breakfast,” Gull advised, starting on his own. “No wonder you’re tired. Up late talking, hmm?”

I felt an unwelcome blush warm my cheeks. How much of last night’s conversation had he heard? I was certain he’d been asleep when I checked. “Quite late, yes.” I took up my spoon.