The air in the bruidean is stale, despite the spring breezes that waft in through the open-flung doors. The venerable Skene nods into her noontide nap. Restless, I roam the hall. Here and there, I pause to indulge in some gossip. I hear from a young harper that the fian has gone out after the bandits. Amlaidh an Bháitlan and the Rian's bodyguard Cormar have joined in the search. An old woman tells me that the high druid is here to determine the fate of the murderous stonecutter. At the warrior's table, it is rumored that a few days ago a group of strangers were observed at the edge of the head spearman's pasture. Were they assessing the value of his precious cattle? Will there be a raid?

I stifle a yawn. All of the stories seem old. Bored, I decide to take a ramble while the sun still warms the path. Letting my feet wander where they will, I find myself on the familiar track that goes from the keep through the environs, following the river. As I pass through the gates and into the fields, my thoughts turn to Beltane. Who will dance with me this time? Fondly I remember the brief companionship I shared with Flidais Foltchain. Will there ever come a Beltane when I do not think of her first? Chuckling to myself, I wonder if she cherishes those memories as I do. I doubt if she even remembers my name.

Lost in these thoughts for a pleasant long while, I am surprised to look up and find myself at the carrigfin. I didn't realize I had walked so far. The watchtower looks deserted now that the keeper of the ford has gone off with the fian. For a moment I pause there, recalling Amlaidh's kindness. He saved my life. I hope one day I can somehow repay him. It is especially good to be alive on a day like this!

I follow the river and the path back towards the keep. The afternoon is turning towards evening, the sky is showing pale pink. As I wander with empty mind and empty heart, the birds call out to each other with their love songs, filling me with bittersweet nostalgia.

But there is another song weaving with those of the thrush and the linnet. I stop to listen. Someone is piping a lament on a whistle. As it begins to soar and shriek out its sorrow, it is such an enchanting sound that even the birds stop their music and give ear. I turn round, listening hard. It seems to be coming from the healer's hut.

A little farther down the path and I reach the meadow. Across this green I see the tidy little home of Moss. Her hound sits by the door, his huge head to one side, enthralled with the sounds of the whistler.

It must be the young woman Ceirdwyn who plays. I have heard that she is recovering from her fall over the cliffside. Her song tells me that she still bears a great deal of pain, however. Yet I know very well how music can lift the spirit. Drawn to her, I go slowly across the meadow to the healer's hut.

Thorn remembers me and wags a welcome. Ceirdwyn continues the lament. Her eyes are closed. Silently I sit down on the grass beside Thorn. The music flows from the young woman and out through the whistle in keening cries. When she finally finishes, her shoulders sag, her head falls, and she gives a heavy sigh.

Her eyes open and she gasps when she sees me. "Be at ease, friend!" I say quickly. "You must be the young woman who fell from the cliff. I have heard of your troubles. I am called Oileàn Samhradh - Summer Isle. I was wandering the path today and I heard your whistle." Ceirdwyn looks at Thorn and sees that her guardian has rolled over on his back, allowing me to rub his furry belly as I speak to her. Her startled expression rearranges itself into a tentative smile.

I give Thorn a hearty pat and get to my feet. The sky is now going from pale pink to the coppery hues of evening.

"Won't you come with me to the bruidean? There is to be a feast in honor of the high druid tonight! Everyone is welcome, even Thorn!"