There is a place, just below that highest rise of the cliffs south of the Whaleback, where the narrow pathway spreads into a shallow bowl, a cup in which a man and a woman may sit in safety as if supported by the hand of Bone Mother herself, and look out to the west across the trackless ocean that leads to world’s end. Below this small shelter, the cliffs fall away to a rocky shoreline. On this sheer face, generations of birds have nested over the seasons, rearing their young in the teeth of the wind, fighting for space on the narrow ledges, gliding and soaring on their endless journeys to pluck the sea’s bounty. Their diving, intricate dance weaves magic about the place; their harsh voices cry an ancient, many-threaded chant of survival.

Nessa and Eyvind sat there as the sun passed to the west; as the bright blue of afternoon began to fade to violet and gray, and the shadows changed. They did not embrace, not yet, for all the tide of longing that had filled them, rising and rising, since the very moment they had left the settlement to set out on this journey. Simply, Eyvind put one arm around Nessa’s shoulders, and his other hand laced its fingers in hers. Warmth shared; memories awakened. The sky changed, dimmed; the birds were quieter now.

“I expected too much of him, at the end,” Eyvind said, staring out over the darkening sea. “More than any man could give.”

“Perhaps he will prove you wrong.”

He glanced at her. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

Nessa shivered. “I don’t know. And I will not look in the fire for that answer. You opened another pathway for him. What happens now is his choice, not yours.”

“This was not done cleanly. I should have known better.”

“You are a man, not a god. Perhaps time will give you answers. Now, I’m getting cold. And I want to cook supper before it’s quite dark. Shall we go?”

“Supper sounds good. But can you better Rona’s onion broth?”

Nessa grinned as, hand in hand, they began to pick their way back down the cliff path. “I would not attempt such a feat. But I’ve an excellent line in flatcakes flavored with dried mushrooms and herbs. The last time I gave you those, you fed them to the dog, I seem to remember. This time I expect better of you.”

“I hope not to disappoint you,” he said quietly.

Nessa felt a hot blush rise to her cheeks. She realized he was entirely serious. “Unlikely, I should think,” she told him, understanding that whatever he achieved, however he was loved and recognized, he would always expect more of himself: would always consider himself in some ways wanting. That was Somerled’s doing.