Rosheen thought about it a moment, making him wait.

“You were a cute babe,” she said simply. “And bald. The black head did not come until later, so do not place that at my feet. And,” she added, cutting him off when she saw his mouth open, “do not ask me why they think you are cursed. I have never understood the fears you mortals place upon yourselves. Nonsense!”

Padric closed his mouth and urged the horse forward, his frown increasing over the first mile.

They were traveling an hour before his mood finally broke. She saw the crease between his eyes relax and the clouds pass from his countenance. The corner of his mouth turned up just a little.

“What are you thinking on?” she asked, giggling at him.

“Cider,” he said lightly.

She gave a coo of delight. “That sounds lovely.”

“It will be in season,” he said. “Always is in Airlann. That is the one thing about this isle and Autumn. It never changes. The sun rises, it sets and it is always the same.”

Rosheen smiled, humoring him. He was wrong of course. She looked up at the sun, just now beginning to shine through the grey clouds. No, it was not the same.

There is a change in the light.

E PILOGUE

EPILOGUE

There was pain. Floating and dull, rising with the light. Not light, at least not seen. But the absence of dark. There was something else too. Half smells, half sounds. Salt. A knocking. All of it hurt. There was warmth. All around, but heavier in places. It moved, soft pressures approaching. A soft fluttering sound, tickling, pleasant. A nudge. Then another, firmer, insistent. The light grew away from black. Blurred orange. Spots of black, no green. Something pink, sniffing. Whiskers.

Napper?

The nose touched him and it was cold. It searched him and the paw came up, almost hesitant, and touched his face, making sure he was real.

He reached up, his arm feeling heavy, his fingers numb, and felt soft fur, the gentle rhythm of purring. His fingers came awake as he scratched the cat and his vision cleared. He was really there.

“Napper!”

Pocket sat up in the bed, ignoring the pain that dropped into his skull and hugged the cat to him, getting a small yowl of complaint, but refusing to let go. He kissed the furry head, again and again, looking around him as he did.

It was a cottage. Stone walls and a large hearth, sunlight and blue sky showing through the windows. A large figure moved in front of the fire, tending to a pot. She turned, her face glancing at him out of habit and then away before realization struck.

“Child,” Moragh said softly with a breath of relief. “You are awake.”

Half of her face lit up, and even the drooping side seemed to smile.