I could complete her sentence. It’s because we are the same. It’s because each of us is half of the other. It’s because we are a perfect fit. A pair. Made to be together. “So that’s the famous Snake,” I say, watching the tall man on the jetty with the wriggling, licking white bundle in his arms. Snake’s hair is cropped stubble-short. He has an intricate pattern graven all across his brow, and marks like broad twisted bracelets on the skin of his wrists. Over his tunic he wears a garment that appears to be fashioned from a serpent’s skin. I am reminded that our journey involves a sea monster, and wish I had not thought of it.

There are others disembarking now, bundles being unloaded, folk hugging, men hoisting children onto their shoulders. Snake puts the dog down to throw his arms around Gull’s shoulders, then Johnny’s, and to exchange friendly punches with several other men. Deiz scampers about at ankle level, yapping.

“That’s Snake,” Sibeal says. “One of a kind. He’s an old friend of Gull’s, from the earliest times. The very big man with the dark beard is Wolf, another of the original Painted Men. He’s a Norseman. The one in the blue shirt is Sigurd. And that young man there is my cousin Cormack, Johnny’s brother.”

Cormack has seen us and is bounding up the path, his face wreathed in smiles. He is like Johnny, yes; but not quite like. He’s taller, thinner, livelier, without the reserve and composure that make Johnny seem older than his years. This man is close to my own age. From his keen eyes to his well-muscled arms to the long legs that take the hill in their stride, Cormack is every inch a warrior. He reminds me of my many deficiencies as a man.

“Sibeal!” He’s beaming. He seizes Sibeal around the waist, lifts her off the ground and whirls her around a couple of times, then sets her back down with a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Morrigan save us, you have grown up since I last saw you! You’d be the image of Mother if it weren’t for those eyes of yours. And I suppose this scowling fellow is your jealous sweetheart.” He turns toward me, and I cannot think of anything to say to him.

Sibeal is laughing. She’s flushed scarlet. “This is Felix,” she says. “A scholar. From Armorica. Felix, this is my cousin Cormack.” Suddenly serious, she adds, “There’s a lot to tell you, Cormack. Too much for now. Welcome home. I’m happy that you’re safe.”