All is quiet by the river path. The skies are muffled in dull gray banners that hang all the way down to the hilltops to trail off into the valleys. The path is curtained with sheets of fog. As I plod dismally along, I can hear but not see the river Boinne. I walk on slowly, driven by some vague curiosity, I know not what.

Disembodied sounds float out of the mist. I hear the sweet lowings of Fraoch's cows, calling to the bull. Then Tine himself answers with a languid bellow. On any other morning, I would laugh at this melodious exchange of bovine affection but today it only saddens me. I think of the spearman, sitting alone at the Mother's Well, cloaked in darkness. I shed a secret tear.

Quickly passing Fraoch's holdings, I anticipate the hulking shape of the carrigfin looming ahead. All is quiet here too. Fallen leaves whisper in the wind, old trees creak to each other, and Amlaidh's boat bumps gently against its moorings in rhythm with the riverflow. The riverflow, yes, whatever it is that calls to me is there. I pass the carrigfin, leave the path and head towards the embankment.

Nothing seems amiss. I find deer tracks and a well-worn spot that is probably someone's favorite fishing place. The mists are thicker here by the water. A short distance down the riverbank, the dragonheaded prow of Amlaidh's ferry looks down on me and nods as if it knows why I am here. I wish I knew too. Despite the apparent calm of these surroundings, my spine tingles with warning of - what?

Then I see it. Something moving on the Boinne, a round shape riding the current. The smallest of curraghs, made to carry only one, drifts by and comes to an abrupt landing, captured between two large rocks not far from where the dragon rests. It spills its cargo out onto the shore. A shadow sprawls, motionless. There is a moan and then again silence.

"Who is there?" I call out, not expecting any reply. I feel frozen, cold and heavy with dread. Somehow I move down the slippery bank to where the tiny boat is caught. And there is a woman, clad only in a pale, ragged leine, sprawled on the rocks, half in and half out of the water.

As I draw near, she struggles to her feet. I grab her arms to pull her up. She shivers, appears dazed, and puts a hand to her head. "Who are you? Are you from Inver Colpa?" My voice trembles and chokes off, overcome with unknown emotion. I know this woman, I have seen her before but I can't remember!

I throw my cloak around her but in a shocking burst of anger she screams a curse and pushes me aside, scrambling up the bank towards the path. Caught off balance, I fall backwards and land with a thud. When I recover my breath, the curragh woman is already gone.

Stunned, I shakily look around for a fallen branch of suitable length. I return to the rocks and hook the little boat with a forked twig, pulling it from the water. Strangely, there is nothing within, not even an oar.

"What is this?" Fenian's voice startles me. He chuckles softly as I spin around to glare at him "I saw you leave the keep. Alone." He frowns curiously at the little curragh. It is so battered that it's a wonder how it stayed afloat. In bits and pieces, I tell him the tale.

"Easy to see where she goes. She cares not about hiding her tracks!" He points to the deep footprints that clearly mark out a running trail. We turn the curragh upside down and leave it on the bank. Following the traces of the mysterious woman, we are led straight through the trees - towards the keep!