The snowstorm had blown itself out by the time Aedan and I arrived at Magh Croimor. Everything was coated in glistening white and silver, lit up by bluish wintry sunbeams. The hills were mottled brown and white with shiny splashes of frosted evergreen. Tiny spheres of ice bedecked the bare black branches, mocking winter's barrenness with a bloom of crystal berries. As we rode cautiously around the rim of the plain, we searched the ground, sniffed the air and scanned the sky for any sign of life. There was none.

We passed by the place where the beginnings of Sean's and Winter Mist's den were dug. The earth was churned up around where the first stones had been set, as if many horses recently stamped here. Aedan swung down off his horse and crouches beside the largest rock. He put his hand on the dark blotch that stained it, then drew back with a hiss.

"Blood!" he cried out.

"Whose?" I wondered aloud into the awful silence.

As one, we both turned to look towards Becuma's hut, which should have been clearly visible to us from where we stood. The long embankment that hid her home was axe-hacked. Huge hunks of turf were flung around the gaping hole where once her doorflap hung. Aedan groaned. Without thinking, numbly heeding whatever morbid pull drew me closer, I coaxed my horse forward. Aedan, cursing, went flying off in the opposite direction - to where Ciara would be, if she still lived.

"Becuma!" I called out, knowing there would be no answer. The noise startled a flocks of sparrows, who darted out of the bushes and made my horse skitter. I patted her neck and made soothing sounds, as much to calm myself as my mare, before I slid to the ground and crept closer to the ruined hut.

Peering into the shattered doorway, I saw the big cauldron sprawled upside down across the threshold. Furs, feathers, broken crockery, and rags of clothing littered the interior. The bed where Winter Mist rested for so long as she healed from the Niafer wizard's wand-fire last year - that bed was ripped apart.

"Becuma," I breathed as I sifted through what was left. I picked up the cauldron and set it where the hearth used to be. I gathered up the pelts and hugged them to my chest. There was no blood shed here, or none that I could see.

"So it's Baine!" The hiss almost made me jump out of my skin. "Stealin' me furs, are ya?" The wicked cackle that followed never sounded so good to my ears.

I threw the pile of wolfskins at her, laughing. My laughter died when I saw her face. A long slash, still raw, split one cheek. Behind her were two more - the wyrd girl, wild-eyed as always, and the poet whose name I remember was Summer Isle.

"Wha- what happened here?" I demand.

"Cormac's men," Becuma answers flatly. "Lookin' for a baby and a boy stolen from the Niafer."

"Cormac's?" I repeat, confused. "Not the Niafer war band?"

"I says Cormac's!" she snaps and stares me down, looks right through me and sees something that gives it all away.

Before she can start questioning me, I hammer her with questions of my own. "How long ago? Who's dead? Did they name who they were after?"

Becuma twists her mouth which obviously causes her great pain, but her anger pushes past it. She snags my arm and drags me to her. "You stole them, din'ya! And who else? Where's me crack-skulled son? Musta been his plan, eh? Idiot!"

The wyrd girl steps between us or Becuma would have shaken the life's breath out of me. I'm shocked when Becume eases up, steps back, and allows the girl to dab tenderly at her bleeding cheek with her sleeve.

"Several dead," Summer Isle speaks up. "I'm sorry, I don't know their names." His eyes roam over me curiously and almost hungrily, begging for something and I know not what.

We all whirl around at the sound of a horse coming fast. It's Aedan with Ciara behind him, his son Lann wedged between and the babe Conall pressed tight in Ciara's arms.

"We're leaving!" he announces. "Baine, will you take Lann with you on your horse?"

Summer Isle's gaze holds me fast for another moment, pleading. I don't know why he's here or why he wants to leave, but I have no room for his troubles. Becuma clutches at me and misses as I rush past her.

"Good riddance then!" she spits after us. "Less mouths to feed! And ye can tell that son o' mine to eat worms!"

Lann is happy to ride with me. Ciara beams at me over Aedan's shoulder and I throw back a big grin. None of us know what's ahead, only what we're leaving behind, as we depart Magh Croimor perhaps for the last time.