“I should send him away, then.” The chill deepened. The lamps flickered, the shadows moved. “I would not bind him to me, and have him go before me to be vanquished, to die for me, for us. I would not throw him at Somerled’s feet. Better that he go home: that he sail away and never return.”

Too late for that. The Wolf follows in your steps. He will be loyal to the end.

“My uncle…my cousin…what about Rona? None of them were there, none…”

How strong are you, daughter? Are you as strong as the standing stones? Can you endure as the deep caves endure, does your heart keep time with the heartsong of the islands? How strong are you, Nessa?

“Strong enough. I must be.”

Ahhh…The sound rang through the cavern, a sigh, a sob, a whisper, a great call, a deep prayer. Nessa covered her face with her hands, and felt the darkness close in around her.

She stirred, half-waking. Her head swam; her limbs were heavy, her mouth dry. To go from trance to sleep is not kind to body or mind. It is best to come out step by step, through the misty layers of thought, until the mind attains full consciousness again. Only then can one surrender to sleep in safety. She had not done that; exhaustion, despair, and denial had claimed her, and now she felt drained, deadened, unable even to run her tongue over her parched lips. Slowly her awareness grew. She was warm; she was lying somewhere soft, in bed, with a pillow under her head. It was no longer dark; though her eyelids were heavy with slumber, she could feel the light streaming in…If she was in the cottage, and it was as bright as this, it was not only day, it was already afternoon…It was nearly low tide…

Nessa’s eyes snapped open. The warm fingers that had encircled her own were abruptly withdrawn. She tried to sit up and collapsed back with a groan as her head began to throb, an insistent drumbeat starting up somewhere just behind her eyes.

“It’s so late…why didn’t you wake me?” she whispered. “Kinart will be waiting…I have to go.”

“Water.” That was a command, in Rona’s voice. Nessa turned her head very cautiously to the side. There was Eyvind sitting by the pallet with jug in one hand, cup in the other; he was getting plenty of practice at this. He held the cup for her; she propped herself up on one elbow and drank. Why was he so pale? Why did he look so anxious? She had not even told them yet. They did not know what she had seen.

“Good,” said Eyvind, “good. Not too fast. That’s it. Now lie down again.”