After hearing the news about Lorcánn, I have been in a bit of a trance. Moss left hours ago to tend to him. Tend to him! Brigid's teeth! He killed my father, and now he receives a healer's care? I froze when the messenger came. I've barely moved since. The scene of my father's death keeps replaying in my mind. My mother screaming, my sisters hiding, and the horrible sound of the dagger through my father's heart. Though my recovery in Inver Colpa has been quiet and peaceful, and my loving caretender has been sweet and gentle, nothing will dull the sharp edges of my memory.

How long have I sat here on the floor of the hut, staring off into space? A weight drops on my lap and jolts me into the present. Ah, Thorn! You wonderful animal. How blessed to be a dog and not have such human problems. As I gaze into his dark, murky pupils, an feeling seeps into my mind. I must go see him. This man, this destroyer of clans, is lying in rest only footsteps away. My resolve hardens, and I rise to my feet. Agh! My legs! How long have I been sitting? I soon regain my focus and head out of the hut, down the road to the NiaFer keep. Brigid's gifts of the rebirth of springtime are visible throughout the village, but I am blind to them as I have one purpose only - to see Lorcánn. I see a small hut watched over by a fiesty looking old man. My spirit tells me Lorcánn lies here.

I enter the dark hut slowly. The old warrior seems not to notice me, or perhaps he has wisely decided not to come between me and my determination. There - straight in front of me - lies the monster. Deamhan! My whole being screams, yet I say nothing. Like the inexplicable pull of the edge of a cliff, Lorcánn's sleeping figure draws me closer. Now I am kneeling right by his head. Right by an oozing welt in his forehead - my mother's last act of revenge. I sit there for what seems like an eternity. Lorcánn appears so peaceful, like an innocent child. The hideous demon that he truly is seems weakened somewhat. I become acutely aware of his breathing. Suddenly my heart leaps to my throat. Lorcánn is dying. Memories return from seasons past, when my father would sit by the bedside of a patient he was unable to rescue from the gates of the summerlands. As I grew older, he would often ask for me to come and play a gentle song on my flute for the aching soul. And this was the sound they would make. That eerie in-and-out rasp, with the soft murmur of death audible throughout. Lorcánn will die. As my father has, and my mother, and my baby brother. And perhaps my sisters too. All these deaths caused by this one man, this deamhan.

It is time to go now. I rise slowly and quietly exit the hut. The guard glances at me and nods solemnly, perhaps he knows why I came? As I make my way back to Moss's hut, a weight seems lifted off me. I have made peace with Lorcánn. Although I may never be able to forgive him, revenge is now out of my hands. The gods have reclaimed him and he will go to the netherworld a stained soul. Inside Moss's hut, I feel a desire for an old comforting technique. I go to one of the small medicine closets and look around until I find a musty old chest. Opening it, my nose is assaulted with a putrid smell of blood and muck. Now I understand why Moss didn't want to keep these. I dig through my old clothes until I find what I was looking for, and had forgotten somehow all these weeks. A small whistle, which I carried always. It was not my beautiful carved flute from home, but it would satisfy my need. I removed the whistle and locked the chest back up. I wandered to the doorway, gazing out at the field and the sky and the trees, and I play a slow, soft lament. A song for my father, for death, for endings.

Far off, I can hear soft sounds of a gathering. Happenings at the Great hall perhaps? Although I have been in Inver Colpa for a few moons now, I haven't really met the citizens, apart from the few who have visited Moss's hut. I know it is time for me to embrace my new home, but right now my past looms over me and requests a tribute. Again, I put the whistle to my lips and my fingers glide slowly over the instrument to produce a chilling, lilting melody that whispers softly through the evening air.