Deglan had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He loathed that name. “Peace, Laoire. The fault was mine, but you must excuse me, I need…”

“Is that the herb?” Laoire cut in. “You have found it! Will it make him whole?” The herdsman face was slack with hopeful wonder.

“Not stood here it won’t!” And with that, Deglan kicked the toad into motion, leaping the man in a bound. They struck the muddy herd road soon after and Deglan punched the sides of his feet into Bulge-Eye’s flanks, urging him to greater speed as the road climbed a small hill. The conical roofs of the round, wicker-work and stone houses of the human farmers came into view over the rise. Above-ground dwellings still seemed strange and impractical to Deglan, even after centuries of living among them.

“Never do keep all the rain out.”

Bulge-Eye flew over the crest of the hill and down into the center of the village, his feet barely touching the road before he was in the air once more. The few women and children in the square saw him coming and made way hastily, knowing the urgency of his errand. They shot past the mill and made for the opposite side of town. Movement caught Deglan’s eye as they passed the alehouse and his mouth twitched downward at the sight of the laden mule tied in front of the building, but he did not slow Bulge-Eye’s pace. On the village outskirts, Deglan nudged Bulge-Eye away from the river and set off down a narrow goat track where the land turned hilly once more.

Faabar’s hut came into view and Deglan was relieved to see smoke coming from the chimney. Forgetting his cramping legs, he hopped down from the saddle and pushed through the door. It was gloomy inside and hotter than a forge, which only intensified the stink.

“I told you to keep it warm in here,” Deglan said, going to the fireplace and kicking the turf apart. “Smells like you’re trying to cook yourself!”

He grabbed a stool and dragged it under the window. Mounting it quickly he reached up and threw the skins aside, allowing light and fresh air into the hut. He set the vervain carefully on the sill, before it wilted in the stifling heat, then stepped down and turned to face the room.

Faabar’s massive bulk lay propped up on his pallet, his feet facing the fire--exactly the way Deglan had left him. He shook his head.

“Girl did not show up to tend the fire,” Deglan declared with certainty. “I knew it! Foolish child! I will have a word with her father. If she thinks…”

“Do not.” Faabar’s voice quavered deeply. “Please. Do not. She is afraid. It is cruel to make her come here.”