As always, she took the opportunity to survey what she could. The farm might have lost the trow’s protection, but five years on, it continued to prosper. It didn’t enjoy the same immunity from storms or drought, but it remained in the black, even if the profit margins were slimmer. Madeleine sometimes wondered if the Great Mare might not have a hand (or hoof, or tail) in it. Best not to wonder too much, though. She reverenced the memory of what had happened to her but hadn’t seen a supernatural creature in the last five years, and she was fine with keeping it that way.

Never mind water spirits and underground creatures and so on. It was enough to spend every day in honest labor. A lot of honest labor—more than she’d realized that first summer here. Farming never stopped. She and Hæra hadn’t had a vacation longer than a two-night stay in Edinburgh since she’d moved in.

Well. She liked managing things. A farm was a bigger challenge than a classroom, and there were days when she wanted to throw her hands in the air and give up. But Hæra was always at her side, reminding her why they did what they did, and why it was worthwhile.

Of course, lately Hæra’s mind had been less on the farm and more on her other project.

Madeleine drove through the village. Jeremy was sweeping the sidewalk outside the Sunrise Café and smiled at the brief honk of her horn. He and Arjun had to come for dinner soon—it had been too long. Maybe when Becca visited in a couple of weeks? They’d all get along like a house on fire. Perhaps Jim, Isla, and their three-year-old son could make it too. They’d all want to know about Hæra’s latest venture. Everyone was asking about it.

She exited the village and kept going north. On the way, she passed the small stone kirk and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.

After her first return to the States, she’d realized shortly that regularly attending mass no longer resonated with her. Her visits grew more infrequent; she stopped going to confession, which worried Becca but felt quite liberating. After all, Madeleine had eventually been forced to accept she’d confronted an actual god. It hadn’t looked like anything she’d ever believed in. She had to redefine the sacred for herself. Now she couldn’t say she disliked the sight of a church—something about it would always call to her—but there was pain at its doors. Instead of trusting entirely to doctrine, Madeleine had decided to place a bit of trust in herself. It was working so far.