Hæra looked up from her beer to see two older women standing at the table. She recognized one of them: old Annie, who ran Annie’s Crafts. Probably here to offer quick condolences, as she had the day after they’d brought Jonathan’s body back.

“May I sit down?” she asked, to Hæra’s surprise. Maybe it was business. Ætlaquoy sold wool to her, although it cost more to shear the sheep than they made back in sales. Gave back to the community, Jonathan always said. Was Annie here to ask Hæra to keep doing that?

“I knew Jonathan since I was a lass,” Annie said. She signaled Iona Darrow for a drink and smiled at Hæra. “Was mad about him for a bit. We all were, us girls. Good-looking bastard. Did he ever tell you about the time he played the fiddle right here at Christmas? Had the whole village stomping its feet and calling for more. Must be over forty years ago.”

Hæra stared at her. “No, he didn’t.”

“No? Ah, well then…”

As Annie told the story of a young Jonathan, another older woman appeared. Eileen McKay, the island’s registrar who’d given Hæra a false birth certificate. She talked about how Jonathan had played pranks on the teacher in Jorsay’s one-room schoolhouse, as it had been then, but was so good-natured that even mean Miss Magurdy couldn’t stay angry for long.

Others came too, enough that eventually extra chairs had to be pulled up to the table. Villagers with whom Hæra had never exchanged a word sat down and talked their memories of a Jonathan Hæra had never known. Some of the memories were quite old.

These people hadn’t forgotten him, even though they were human. Maybe she wouldn’t either.

In the middle of Harry Duggan’s endless anecdote about Jonathan and the time a dairy cow got loose on his watch, Madeleine put her hand on Hæra’s arm again and bumped their knees together beneath the table.

Madeleine had touched her on the boat too. It had been the only thing that got Hæra through that awful trip without losing her mind. Even after all of this—or maybe because of all this—there was nothing like Madeleine’s touch. Whether she was human or not, Hæra seemed to be made for it. It was her only comfort.

Harry stopped talking and raised his eyebrows while he stared openly at Madeleine’s hand. Then he gave a knowing little smile. “It’s good to have friends in times like this, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Duggan,” Connor said affably. “Does this story end with the cow kicking your head in?”

“What? I only meant⁠—”

“Yes.” Hæra looked him dead in the eye as she put her hand over Madeleine’s. “It’s good. And Connor’s right. You can fuck off.”