In a hurry to distance myself from the dead body, I manage to match the sidhe princeling's leggy pace as we follow our wolfhound friend toward the river. At the same time that she leaps off the road and disappears in the bracken, thunder rolls across the overcast sky, warning us to take refuge from the sudden downpour. He grabs me by the hand and pulls me under a large weeping willow. "Now where did the wee pup get to?" he frets aloud. "Not to worry, Ciaran. Caoihme's probably sniffing out those bandits." "That's precisely what I'm worried about!" he groans. "She has no business sticking her nose into the affairs of the Milesians." "But I asked her to. I want to find out more about Mór Lámh, like how his arm got so large in the first place. What if he's part Fir Bolg or Fomorian? That would make him even more dangerous. What if he's the one who killed that son of a Mil back in the grove?" "You're not helping to allay my fears. Aine charged me with her safety, you know," he says, raising himself importantly to his full stature. "I know! You're very brave and she's very lucky," I say, secretly admiring his exquisite form, long dark mane and penetrating blue-grey eyes. Wish I had a handsome sidhe prince to look after me, I think, wishing upon a sudden flash of lightening. "Look! Did you see the way the sky lit up? My Mòraì says when that happens, we can be sure Lugh is looking over us. He's watching Caoimhe too, I bet." No sooner are the words out of my mouth than a large, wet wolfound comes bounding out of the mist toward us. She stops dead in her tracks and wags her tail so fiercely, it almost turns her in circles. Her large silvery eyes blink excitedly and she barks for us to follow her. She leads us into the yawning mouth of a cave and gives her coat a violent shake. "Ugh! Caoihme, did you have to do that!?" Ciaran says disgustedly. Caoihme's starry eyes twinkle with amusement, then she looks beyond him at a shadowy figure standing further in the cave. It's firelit outline casts odd silhouettes on the walls. She scampers delightedly toward the creature, who, upon closer inspection, appears to be a bedraggled fox standing on it's hind legs and wearing wet trews. Then it turns and croaks at us like a frog, which stops Ciaran and me dead in our tracks. "What is it?" I whisper, automatically resting my hand on the hilt of my sword. As we move closer, it takes on a familiar form. "It's Bantiarna Sionnach!" "Who!!?" an exasperated Ciaran demands. "Fox Lady! It's my special name for the sidhe lady who saved us from her bandit lover's deadly arrow. My brother and I always make up names in our heads and then have to explain them to everyone." "Husheen children!" Fox Lady whispers sternly with glowing red eyes and beckons us to approach. She hugs Caoihme and me to her soggy breast as if we were her cubs. Refusing to be hugged, Ciaran steps behind her and peers suspiciously across the firepit at the laughing shadow people dancing on the far wall. Fox Lady's gentle touch surprises me, and I realise she's no bandit. I'm not used to being mothered, but something compels me to rest my head trustingly on this fox mother's shoulder and inhale her heady fragrance of musk mixed with wet leather and bittersweet mint. Holding us close, she proudly raises her head and sings a strange oath to the flickering fire. “Only through the night. Outlaws you…we may be, but these deaths will not be on my hands.” "Deaths? I don't think so!" I swear under my breath and push myself away from Fox Lady. The stench of unwashed bodies hits my senses and I teeter dizzily from side to side, finally waking up to the fact that we are not alone. Still adjusting to the indoor lighting, I squint fiercely at the bandits and reach for my sword. In the blink of an eye, Caoimhe shifts back to her child shape and grabs my arm to stop me from doing something stupid. Several pairs of eyes narrow with suspicion at the sight of us, especially at the little shapeshifter. The humpy-backed Turtle Man flails about on the floor, screaming like a bean sidhe about being a mòraì to toad children, then mercifully passes out. For some strange reason, this makes his friends laugh, but not for long. A couple of them start muttering and appear to make strange signs in the air. I look at Ciaran to see if he's going make sidhe signs back at them. Instead, he glares at them significantly and studies the cave mouth, undoubtedly sizing up our escape route. That's when I spy Mór Lámh and all else fades away. His earsplitting laughter echoes off the walls and roots me to the spot. I casually loop a long strand of golden frizz behind my ear and stare openly at the way his muscles ripple like snakes in the firelight. "Your arm. It's big. I mean, not just big. It's this big," I say, flinging my arms as far apart as I can reach. "How did it get like that? Were you born that way? Did someone use magic on you? Are you Fir Bolg or Fomorian? Why isn't the rest of you the same size?" Once I start asking questions, I don't seem to be able to stop. By the look on Mór Lámh's face, he's about to help me, possibly by ripping out my tongue. I shudder and hide behind Bantiarna Sionnach, peeking round. "We're children, you see, and we love a good story," I say quickly, trying to tame the angry beast blazing out of his fiery eyes. "We're cold and wet and a little hungry. We promise to be good." Caoihme and I exchange glaces and nod our silent agreement to be well-behaved...for a night.