“Foolish to wander these woods at night,” the man said, pulling a horseshoe from his belt and holding it out to Padric.

“It is that,” Padric agreed, taking it. Their eyes locked for a moment and then the woodsman nodded, taking back the horseshoe. Padric’s heart sank. Rosheen would not be welcome here.

The man put his axe aside, but not too far, and went back to tending the stewpot. At a glance it was clear that this was no camp, but the man’s home. A small, wickerwork hut sat atop a small rise in the land, several dozen paces from the fire. A woodshed and charcoal billet were near to the hut, also well out of the small depression where the fire was built. No doubt the man kept a small herd of pigs close by, left to forage in the surrounding woods.

“Don’t you go begging now. We eat shortly,” the man said. Padric turned to answer this blunt offer of food only to find that the man was facing away, not speaking to him at all. Padric was surprised to see a small child, a girl, hunkered down on the other side of the fire. Her knees were drawn up to her chin, the soot blackened toes of her grubby bare feet stuck out beneath the hem of her ragged dress. So tight was she rolled into herself that all Padric could see of her face were the wide eyes, terribly beautiful in their vulnerability, framed by shiny tresses of near white blond hair. After so many hours in the dark woods, the harsh light of the flames must have caused Padric to miss her when he entered the clearing.

“Good evening, little miss. My name is Padric.” He smiled at her. The girl stared at him briefly then looked back into the flames.

“Not get a word from that one,” the man said gruffly. “Nary a squeak since she took ill.”

Padric kept his face friendly. “She seems fit now.”

The man turned his lips down and shook his head. “She’s not spoke nor barely eaten in close on a week.”

“She will, now the sickness is out of her,” Padric replied.

“Aye,” the woodsman nodded. “Close thing. Thought to lose her.”

“She yours?” Padric asked.

A nod. “My woman and I had her late. Born at night, she was. Breath left the wife before sunrise. Named her Maeve, after her mother.”

“She is beautiful,” Padric said.

“And she will stay here, when you go,” said the man pointedly.