Waking up to the promise of the new day, the clear sky of a bright spring morning, with Sorcha sleeping soundly in his arms and Granny’s miracle bag on the ground beside them, he felt strangely at peace. Just as Sorcha had said the day before, he was certain they would yet encounter more creatures before their journey ended. He didn’t know what could possibly remain, what dangers awaited, but he wasn’t afraid. And he wasn’t alone.

“No one emerges whole from a harrowing journey when that journey is undertaken entirely alone.” Was this what the Bean-Nighe meant? Was her answer not merely an avoidance of his question but also a useful piece of advice?

A moment passed, and Sorcha woke as well. Sleep remained heavy on her eyelids. Her movements were slow with lingering slumber.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked.

She smiled up at him. “Ever the doctor, aren’t you?”

He laughed a little at that. “I suppose. I am asking as more than a man of medicine, though.”

Color touched her cheeks. She blushed so beautifully, just as she had when he’d offered her the flower in the meadow yesterday. It was a joy to see her do so again.

“I am well,” she said. “A little embarrassed to have been so quickly taken in by the will-o’-the-wisp. I do know better.”

He took her hand in his. “The pull of that creature goes beyond logic and knowledge. You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I suppose I hadn’t realized how much of a wanderer’s heart I still have.”

He pressed a light kiss to her hand. “Which is also nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She sighed, the sound one of relief. “Thank you.”

“We likely have a long day of walking ahead of us,” he said. “I’m hopeful you still have some food in your bag.”

She took it up and opened it. “I do.”

“That is a relief,” he said, turning his tone to one of absolute teasing. “I feared for a moment we were going to have to eat the vole.”

She laughed, the sound of it settling like music on his ears. Had there ever been another person who brought him such easy and soul-warming delight?

He opened up his bag, intending to make a show of reaching inside for the vole. But he stopped, staring in confusion.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“The soft slippers are gone.”

“Did you leave them somewhere?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Then they have disappeared?”

“So it would seem. I suppose there must be some sort of enchantment on them.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think Granny Winters would play us such a trick if we still needed the shoes.”

“Then,” he said, “perhaps they disappear when they are no longer needed.”

Sorcha handed him a bit of bread and a slice of hard cheese. “What is left in your bag?”