“I’m the same age Aunt Liadan was when she rescued Bran,” I pointed out. “I’m the same age Clodagh was when she went into the Otherworld to save Cathal. And I’m the same age my mother was when she married my father. I’m not a child who needs protecting.” But I am a seer who feels too much, and Ciarán thinks that makes me a liability. “Besides,” I added for my own benefit as much as anything, “I’ve spent a large part of the last four years in the nemetons.” I lifted the pot off the fire. “I’ve been trained to keep vigils, to go without food, to manage on very little sleep. I’m stronger than I look.”

“You’re young for that kind of life,” he said, his tone noncommittal.

“Too young, you think?”

“That’s not for me to say. I heard part of what you told him last night. You sound sure of yourself.”

“I’ve known for a long time that my feet would tread this path,” I said.

“Mm-hm. You’re lucky, then. For most of us it takes half a lifetime before we really know. You’ve only got to look at the fellows who end up here. Wasted their young years, most of them, taking one wrong turning after another. Some, fate’s treated harshly; some have only themselves to blame. But it’s never too late for a fellow to change, not even if he’s five-and-thirty with a weight of trouble on his shoulders. Or five-and-forty, for that matter. Now, we’d best feed this young man his supper, such as it is.” He poured a measure of the broth from pot to bowl, his dark eyes thoughtful. “It must be good to have that bright, straight path before you,” he said. “Walking forward under the gaze of the gods, and everything clean and certain.”

“Mm.” The path was not always so bright and straight, not when Ciarán had decided that after all those years of study and discipline I still was not ready.

Between us, Gull and I got half the bowl of soup into Ardal before it became plain he was too tired to go on. Gull took the bowl and set it down on the floor. Fang made short work of the leftovers.

I fetched a damp cloth and wiped Ardal’s face. In my mind, sharply, I saw Knut doing the same for Svala. It was sad that he felt shamed by her behavior. Of course it must be hard for him, here among strangers, trying to watch over her. I wondered if she had ever been able to speak. Had she once sat and plied distaff and needle with other women, exchanging tales of husbands and children, the domestic chatter of an ordinary settlement? Perhaps she should be offered that sort of companionship here. I might suggest it to Clodagh.