Verica and I huddle close to the banked fire for warmth and wonder at Gorma's disappearance while waiting for the cauldron of fresh spring water to boil. Did she lose her way? Hardly likely. Did she twist an ankle? Possibly. Did a wild animal attack her? Also possible, but not a scenario we wish to dwell on. Another unmentioned possibility is that she may have been kidnapped, though we have turned our our camp into a refuge for wounded warriors with neat piles of clean bog cotton strips, herbal salves, needles, thread and hot cauterizing irons at the ready. I steep a handful of chamomile flowers in a beaker of boiled water and peer into the glowing embers for a sign. "What do you see?" Verica whispers, not at all sure she wants to hear the answer. "I see red!" I gasp in alarm and clutch her arm. "Are you sure it's not just the burning wood? Look again!" she urges. "I see Drust covered in blood!" "Is he alive?" "Yes!" "Then all is not lost. Can you see who did this to him?" "No. All I see is a red blur." "I'd better warn the sentries of a potential ambush," she says, pulling her brat regally about her shoulders. I am always amazed at how my friend is able to shift from travelling companion to Brude in the blink of an eye. "Tell them to watch the horses!" I pass the time by listening for the distinctive bird calls our men will make to announce their safe return, or to warn us of danger. Then I hear it. The hoot of an owl. Drust! It's been our private signal since the strange night I encountered the giant owl in the Cean Tir woods. Heart pounding, I answer his call and busy myself with steeping several beakers of healing herbs. Though it will be a long night, I am relieved to see that all but two Dunadd lads have survived. I'm also happy to see our errant stargazer intact, though she is badly shaken. Verica sits her down gently against the trunk of a pine tree and bids her drink a steaming cuach of chamomile and mint. Wild-eyed she complies. Between sips she tells her tale in halting fragments, until the calming brew works its magic and she is able to relate the wondrous details of her encounter with the Celyddon. She hums a sample of the enchanting Otherworldly music that lured her away, played, she says, by a noble bard with flowing red locks that trail along the ground. They stared at one another in fascination, but then his men grabbed her and trussed her up like some wild animal they'd captured on a hunt. Why would the Celyddon do such a thing? I wonder. I have read in Verica's tattoos that she is descended from their ancient royal line and hoped it would be to our advantage if ever we were fated to encounter remnants of her kin. "Why do you think they did this to you? Who would treat a druid with such disrespect?" I ask, pausing briefly from attending Drust's wounds to hear Gorma's thoughts. He has a nasty gash across his forehead that must be cleaned immediately to avoid infection and carefully stitched so it doesn't leave an unseemly mark. Scar it will, but if sewn the way my mother taught me, it will form an image that I can later enhance with a tattoo. I work quickly, while Verica sees to Dobhar. Next I treat Cinaedh and she Oswald. At first the bear-slayer refuses to release his hold on Gorma. After a time of gentle coaxing, we eventually convince him to let her go long enough for me to examine the slash in his sword arm. "It's worse than I feared, but no tendons have been severed," I pronounce as calmly as I can manage and hand him a skin of mead. "Drink up. I need you feeling no pain." Cinaedh nods and drinks deeply while Gorma soothes him and I gently remove caked debris from the angry fissure. "You will be in no shape to fight tonight," I warn, "but keep your spear near your good hand and your sgian dubh hidden in your boot just in case." Gorma's eyes flash dangerously at my words and she grasps the hilt of her own small blade with surprising ferocity. I pity the man who dares come between them. Chuckling, I apply numbing salve to Cinaedh's arm. When I am ready to begin stitching, he bites down hard on a piece of leather. A champion of great heart and courage, he endures the pain in brave silence.