I can hardly believe my eyes when Sean's bride brings the three children, or whatever they are, into the cave. She defies us all, daring us to harm them. Mór Lámh, they call me. I glare at them but I cannot raise a hand against them. I don't know what the toad-girl might do. Nion raves and falls back into a stupor. The lovestruck archer just gapes. Baine is worse yet. She invites them all to stay the night. Hadaig looks disgusted.

When the women poke at the fire and start putting things into the pot, I move in to get my share. Sean's wife - now I remember her being called Winter Mist - fusses with the children but refuses to eat. She has turned a horrifying pale blue color and there's a strange mist coming off her skin. I can see where she got her name. It sickens me to look at her. It sickens me even more when Baine turns storyteller for the children. What is happening to us? Are we under an enchantment?

My arm has been throbbing with pain ever since we left Tara. It feels like a line of tiny swords is embedded in my flesh along the seam where the healers worked last summer. By the firelight, I make a fist to pop up the sinews and muscles. I look closely expecting to see the seam turning black, popping open, or something else equally nasty. There is only the smooth, rippling flesh, as it has been for almost a year now. Mór Lámh indeed.

I poke Hadaig and show him my arm. "Does it look different?"

He glances at it and rolls his eyes. "As pretty as ever, Mór Lámh!"

The children settle down, taking up the warmest places near the fire. Hadaig decides to see to the horses and Baine is swift to follow. I suspect they want some time to themselves. Neither of them enjoys being closed in, even in a storm. That leaves me to sleep in the company of a bunch of stinking rained-on ratlings, a snoring humpback and a newlywed couple of simpleton and sidhe.

Disgusted, I retreat to the farthest, darkest end of the cave. Alone with my thoughts, it seems considerably darker. I grope blindly to feel my way along the cold, damp stone walls. Somewhere back here I hid the sacks that I loaded with the rest of Faramir's hoard. Somewhere -

I stop. A different texture. A tiny jab goes into my forefinger. A splinter from wood? I curse softly and reach out again. The wood creaks and gives way.

Aha! This must be the secret tunnel Faramir was always talking about. He said it was an old souterrain that was a passageway to the treasure room in the Niafer keep.

In the dark, I laugh out loud and lean back against the stony wall. This will be my secret, for now. I pull up my hood and wrap my brat tight against the chill. My arm flares with pain. I grit my teeth and eventually sleep comes.