“Yeah, in a couple of weeks. Moving into Isla’s place before the wedding. Jon’s not a bugger about the late notice.” He looked over his shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Hæra turned to see Jonathan’s car, an aging Vauxhall Corsa, bumping down the drive toward the road. He must be going into Thornhill for the shopping. “What time is it?”

Jim looked at his watch. “Going on three. Let’s have a rest.”

They sat side-by-side in the Gator while he ate a sandwich. Hæra glanced over the flock, which stood a mistrustful distance away. The newly tagged lamb remained at its mother’s side.

“I’m glad lambing’s over,” Jim said between bites. “Come the end of April, I’m checking ewe teats in my dreams.”

Dreams sounded awful. To close your eyes, be wholly unprotected, and experience things that weren’t even true? Thank the Great Mare Hæra would never have to deal with that. “Me too,” she said.

“Better than fishing, though. I used to do that.”

“Do you miss the ocean?” She didn’t look at Jim when she asked. In her peripheral vision, though, she knew he looked at her. It wasn’t as good as in her horse form, when she could see from all directions.

“Can’t miss what’s everywhere, can you?” he said. “You can’t miss the ocean on an island.”

Hæra could. She didn’t dare approach the beach anymore. You never knew who might be watching. She could smell the sea on windy days, she could hear it from certain distances, and that was the closest she got to her former home. What would it be like to walk by the water, or to swim in it, and feel her strength return to the fullest?

“You don’t go near the water much,” he said. “Not even the ferry.”

Look out. That was the beginning of a deeper inquiry—the sort islanders rarely made but that Jonathan so feared. She snapped, “Can you blame me? I nearly drowned.”

“Right,” Jim said quickly. “Lucky you escaped that. Sounded almost like a miracle, in fact.”

For a moment, his eyes were shrewd. Hæra’s stomach tightened. What else had Jonathan just been saying but that folk would ask questions about her, that they talked behind closed doors?

“I was lucky,” she said shortly.

“Of course. Brr, it’s airish, isn’t it? Have a sip of something hot.” He offered his thermos.

“No thanks. I’m not cold.” She never was, and hot liquid felt awful in her mouth.

He hummed and then was silent: the sort of silence that fell when a human was thinking. Was that all right, or was he speculating about things he oughtn’t?

Thankfully, down the hill, she saw movement. “Here comes Connor.”