Once she realized we were heading for shelter and supper, the little dog scampered ahead, good temper restored. I walked briskly, and as I went I considered what name might suit a man hovering between life and death. I could think of no good reason to give him a name other than his own. A name could be a symbol, of course—it could denote some inner quality. On Inis Eala, names were especially important. That had started with Johnny’s father, Bran. Aunt Liadan had given him that name. Up until then he had gone only by his title of Chief. She had named him for the raven, since his body was decorated with an elaborate pattern based on that bird’s plumage. The band of outlaw mercenaries he had gathered around him all bore animal names: Gull, Spider, Snake and so on. These men were now the senior warriors of Inis Eala, with a special status in the community. I could not think what animal my man would be named for, even if that was appropriate in his case. He was too sick to show his true colors. What lingered of his real self was all in his eyes, eyes that were wary of questions, but thirsty for tales. Perhaps a name would give him strength until he was well enough to talk to us. That meant I should choose a name denoting courage.

“What do you think, Fang?” I asked as we paused to rest on the way, I sitting on a rock beside the cliff path, the dog standing with ears pricked, watching a group of island sheep that grazed with confidence on the precipitous slope below us. “How about Conall? You’d like that one; it means ‘strong as a hound.’ Or maybe Ardal?”

There was a small cove below us. From my vantage point I had a clear view of the wavelets washing in, the pale stones of the beach. There were larger rocks at the cliff’s foot, and in their shelter crouched a lone figure. She was barefoot, her gown dark to the knees with water. Shawl and cloak had been abandoned on the stones nearby. The sun was low in the sky; it touched her golden hair and illuminated her pale skin. Her hands were busy with something, and I saw a difference in her, as if here in this isolated place, alone with the sea and the sky, she had relaxed her guard.

“We’re going down there,” I murmured to Fang.

As I rose, the dog ran ahead down the steep path toward the cove. I followed more slowly, for the long day spent alone had turned my mood from storm to calm. Sunlight brushed the ocean with a patina of silver; beside me the grasses bent before the breeze, and the sheep conversed on the cliffs in gentle bleats, the ewes grazing below their young on the treacherous slope. No one could be despondent on such a day.