It's been a harsh winter at Magh Croimor. Here I been since Samhain. What strangeness drew me back to this plain of the great heart? Now I know.

It snowed the first night here. At sundown the winds howled bitter cold along with the wolves. Such an early snow is rare. I went first to where I dreamed I seen a row of wailing skulls by where Becuma's hut should be. No skulls there, but no Becuma either and no more hut. Her big cauldron, the one Da stole and brought here for her, no small feat, sits out in the open, filling with snow. The mound of earth that hid her hut is just a pile of dirt. I stand there and stare at it awhile, thinking on Becuma. I always thought she'd live forever.

I don't even feel the icy wind whipping 'round me till the frost stings my cheeks and chin. I turn away from the wind, away from the wrecked hut. I turn and see the place where the stones were piled up for building mine and Winter Mist's happy home. Another ruin! A wolf howls, closer, and another one picks up the song. They got my scent now. I shake off a shiver and start gathering firewood.

Something creeps, slow and low, about two spear-casts from the sheltering pines near where I want to make a fire. I keep moving, pretending not to notice, wary from the corner of my eye. In the white mist, it could be anything. From the furry look of it, it must be a wolf. Seldom do they stalk alone. The whole pack is lurking out there.

"Don' wanna die like Brody," I whisper. It was half-wolf, half-man that killed my brother. I heared the creature growl but in a man's voice before we ran it off. Da heared it too but he never would say. I got Brody's knife on me and I touch it for good luck. The greyish shape slinks closer. I hear it snuffling. Brody's knife leaps into my hand. I let the armload of wood tumble softly to the ground.

The wolf is scratching at the snow. It scratches, then it snuffles, and scratches again. I wait and watch. Maybe it's wounded or sick. In the last dusky light of the day, I see it crawling on its belly. Maybe its dying. It comes closer, as if it don't even see me.

Then, all of a sudden it lifts its shaggy head and snarls. Its teeth are brown and broken.

"So ya come back, have ya?" the wolf-woman barks at me.

I jump back. My feet stumble over the firewood I dropped. I land flat on my arse. Eye to eye with her now, there can be no doubt. "Ma?" My voice leaks out in a squeak.

She cackles. It's a pale echo of how she used to laugh, still it's enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck.

"Yer alive!" is all I can say. It makes her so mad, she spits. Then she twitches a few times and falls over.

Dead? No, it can't be! I touch her neck and find a weak, slow drumming there. I wrap her in my brat. When I lift her, she's nothing. I lay her down softly under the roof of pine boughs. Soon there's a good fire going.

When she warms and wakens, Becuma tells me she's been alone here for two moons. The wyrd girl and the poet went off together. The very next day she was gathering nuts and couldn't reach them all, so she tried to climb the tree and fell. After that, she couldn't walk. The pain was so bad at first that she could hardly move, and nearly starved. She was prey for wolves and showed me where their fangs had grabbed onto her arms and legs. She fought them off with a stick. Becuma was determined to survive. Tonight she was dragging herself along, feeding on whatever grass she could scratch up from under the snow.

That was the strangeness that drew me back to Magh Croimor. Becuma was calling to me, as blood cries out to blood. Now that I found her, I couldn't leave her here to die.

So I stayed the winter long. I hunted and set traps, warded off the wolves and kept the fire alive. I told her about Dun Toraidhe. She smiled with an odd gentleness when I spoke of Caelervain's birth, and if I didn't know better I'd swear she shed a tear.

It took a long time for her to get strong enough to travel. She couldn't go on horseback, so I made her a sledge from willow branches and piled it high with pelts. We would have a slow journey to Dun Toraidhe. If luck was with us, we might arrive for Beltaine.