She nodded. “And I would be searching for them still if not for her. I told her all that had happened. She told me the creature we had encountered was the cù-sìth. It is, as I had suspected, from the realm of monsters. It hunts with howls. Humans who hear its terrifying cry but don’t reach shelter under a protective roof by the time the third howl sounds . . . they die.”

He took gentle hold of her hand and squeezed. It was a friendly and kind gesture. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Granny Winter has spent these past years teaching me of the dangerous difficulties my father hadn’t time to explain to me. I suspect there is little of the fairies and monsters I do not now know. I have taken refuge in her cottage for a long time, afraid to return to the paths I once knew.”

“Did this quest force you to do so before you were ready?” he asked.

She pondered his question. “I was ready, but I needed a reason to take that leap again.”

“Well, I thank you for being willing. I could not bear the idea of losing Donella without having exhausted every resource I have. And I could not accomplish this journey on my own. Beyond not knowing the location of the loch, I know very little of what we might encounter while we are out here. My knowledge of fairies and creatures is limited to a vague understanding of will-o’-the-wisp and an even less-specific knowledge of hobgoblins.”

“And I know very little of doctoring,” Sorcha said.

“It’s a fine thing for people to offer each other their expertise, is it not?”

His hand still held hers. He swung their arms between them. It was, perhaps, a childish gesture, but it lightened her heart and eased her mind.

“So, tell me,” he requested, “have you any idea what we might encounter at Loch Dreva?”

Quick as that, her heart grew heavy.

“I know precisely what we will find. Though I understand why Granny Winter is sending you there, I was terrified to hear her speak the destination.”

Her declaration did not appear to surprise him. “Is there a horrible monster at Loch Deva?”

“Not in the sense you are likely thinking. This particular creature has the appearance of a cantankerous old woman. She looks more human than monster.”

“But she is not human?”

Sorcha shook her head. “She is the Bean-Nighe, the Washing Woman. She is often found at lakes and rivers, washing clothes.”

“What is terrifying about washing clothes?”

“Her laundry is the death shrouds of people who are soon to die. And anyone who comes upon her is doomed to wear the shroud she is washing. Death will soon claim him or her.”

“Granny Winter sent us to this bringer of death for answers?”