“Clurichauns,” murmured Grim.

“Clurichauns, very well. You might have to help me.” I glanced from the shivering Grim to Flannan, who wore a puzzled smile, to Brother Dufach. The monk was serene, waiting patiently for us to go on. “And we should keep walking as I tell it. Long ago and far away there lived two tribes of clurichauns . . .”

It felt distinctly odd to tell a tale of Otherworldly matters to a party containing a Christian monk. As we made our way through the woods, I had the clurichaun tribes fall out over the ownership of a certain pony. “Such a fine creature had never been seen throughout the land of Erin,” I said. “Snowdrop was her name, and such was the dazzling whiteness of her pelt that when she passed by, folk thought the moon herself had come down from the sky to visit the earth in the guise of a creature.

“Each of the clurichaun kings—there were two tribes, the green and the blue—wanted Snowdrop as a gift for his daughter. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that they might have got together to discuss the matter and reach some kind of agreement to share the creature. But no; clurichauns being what they are, there was no compromise to be made. There was only one way to settle the matter: war.”

“These clurichauns,” said Brother Dufach, sounding not the least disturbed by the story, only interested, “they are combative in their very nature, then?”

“Did your parents not tell you tales like this when you were a lad?” I asked him. Monks must start their lives as ordinary boys, with ordinary lives. As did, say, druids. Even as I thought this, memories of my own childhood came back, memories I had long ago shut away. I made sure I did not meet Flannan’s eye, though I could tell he was looking at me.

“I suppose they did, Mistress Blackthorn, but not quite in the manner you do. You have a gift for bringing the story to life.”

“So far, so good,” I said, somewhat surprised. “Battle scenes are not really my strong point. If I were telling this in a prince’s hall to entertain the crowd, at this stage I’d ask if anyone wanted to help.”

“I doubt if any of us could match you,” said Flannan.

“Fought from daybreak to nightfall.” Grim spoke up, surprising me. He still looked shaken and pallid; I wondered how he was managing to walk on, let alone tell the story as he went. “Blood all over the woodland; children wailing, old folk wringing their hands, wives and sweethearts yelling encouragement, if they weren’t out fighting alongside their men. Wise women of the blue and green tribes watching on, side by side, thinking they’d be lucky if anyone was left at the end to be patched up. Then into the middle of it all comes Snowdrop the white pony. Wondering what the fuss is about.” He glanced at me. “Could end in sorrow for all of them. Or not. Better if you finish off.”