I lay there for what seems like hours. In reality only a few moments have passed. Faolan stands watch. He clears his throat uncomfortably. So cold. My home is cold. Dark. Devoid. No joyous homecoming for the Sidhe Queen. Nothing.

I get up and walk numbly back to the fire with Faolan in silence. I wonder if I should have stayed back in Faery. The wolves part as we approach. Their eyes rest warily up on me. Faolan is close to the miniature blaze. He looks back at me, into my eyes. Such as a cat would do, I blink but a single time, slow and with reason. As if I could mind talk with this one-eyed wolf, he begins to talk in low tones to the gathered pack.

“Outlaws of Magh Croimor long has been the winter. We’ve paced the boundaries of our land here. The spring has been just as wretched,” he continues in yet lower tones. The few wolves left quiet even more. “Our chieftain not yet returned from chasing after Labraid…wouldn’t be surprised if the lout is living it up wher’vera the princess lead’em.” He lets that sink in. A few growl. I noticed the hallowed faces and hungry stares around. Something more has befallen my outcast clan. “Not only has Sean not come back, but those that were also chasing that wretched Labraid.”

To have so many not to come back to Magh Croimor and the Huntress being more loosed was disconcerting. Of course she never left the land of Mil. Never has, but was this an auspicious beginning to our arrival? Old Faolan was acting chief and not Becuma? Was I supposed to say something…