I could have explained about the years and years it took to memorize the great body of lore a druid needed. I could have described the fasting, the solitude, the various tests of endurance. The need for silence; the long periods of prayer. But I was too tired and dispirited to summon the words.

“I hope I haven’t upset you,” Biddy said. “An honest opinion, that’s what it was. What happens if you make the decision, and take these vows or whatever they are, and then change your mind about it?”

“I won’t change my mind. And you haven’t upset me, Biddy. I like people to be honest.”

“About Svala,” she said. “Maybe she’s best left to herself. They may not stay long, anyway, her and Knut. Johnny will be wanting them off the island as soon as she’s fit to travel. I suppose they’ll go back where they came from. Poor things; a voyage to find a new home, such hopes, and ending the way it did.”

“Mm.”

It was sad indeed. For each of those who were drowned, there was a story like that of Knut and Svala, a tale of opportunities lost, of paths cut abruptly short, of folk left behind. Ardal’s must not end that way. It must not.

“Sibeal?” Biddy was watching me closely. “Why don’t you go out for a walk? It’s a lovely day. Gull told me you were working too hard, and I see it’s so. Finish that food first, and then go out and enjoy the sunshine. You won’t make things better by wearing yourself out, lass.”

“I should be there. With Ardal. It feels right.”

“Ardal wouldn’t want you getting sick on his behalf, not if he’s got any common sense at all.”

She was right, of course. Besides, if I went straight back to the infirmary, Muirrin would only shoo me out again.

I had not explored the eastern end of Inis Eala, so I headed that way, skirting the women’s quarters. Down by the scattering of small huts that housed folk with children, a young woman I knew as Alba was playing with a mob of small boys and girls. Their game involved chasing, catching and making a range of animal noises. I lifted a hand in greeting. Alba, flushed and laughing, waved wildly back.

A group of men was working on an almost-complete cottage, two thatching the roof, others laying stones for a pathway. Tall, lanky Spider was supervising them, and I stopped to greet him.

“What do you think, Sibeal?” he asked, casting his eye over the humble but pleasing dwelling.

“You’ve done a fine job. Is this Clodagh’s and Cathal’s new house?”