Something pulls me from the bonfire to the river. A single high-pitched wail that pierces the night, then ceases as abruptly as it began. The duration is so brief that no one seems to notice. They continue with their revels, innocent of the outcry.

The celebration is drawing to a ragged end. I slip away, unnoticed, drawing my dark cloak close around me so that I am nothing but another shadow, blackened against the dying blaze. My throat tightens and I swallow hard, suddenly aware of the dull and sickening stench of spilled blood. A dark red stain is on the land. An owl hoots somewhere nearby. As I approach the softly singing river, Boann sighs with sadness.

So strong is this pull that I do not feel my feet under me until one step brings contact with something soft, something once human. Before I see, I know. Sorrow spills from me in a rush of tears. All the bright healing, the gentle touch, the long and patient closure of wounds, all for naught! Ceirdwyn...

When I whisper her name, there is an echo, a barely audible but sinister retort that mocks my very breath. Something flares up in the darkness, a flash of gold that stops my pulse cold. Flanked by his followers, he steps out of the sacred night, eclipsing the moonlight. We stand face to face, frozen for a moment in mutual loathing.