After the darkest of nights follows the brightest of days. I am a witness to this truth. Toil, pain and grief - the Cumhaill raid, the stoneworker’s death and Ceirdwyn's murder - fade with the dawn. The morning sun brings with it the promise of peace and renewal, though my bruised backside and sore muscles are my battle keepsakes.

In the night-chilled water of the Boinne I bathe myself, scrubbing away the residual lime and woad with a woolen brush. Between the cold blue water and the golden summer sunlight I hurriedly prepare myself for a new day of service to my sister, the Rian Flidais. I scrub the bottoms of my feet firmly, struggling to get the last of the dirt. Why won’t it come off? All that remains is a \|/.

Then I remember. This is no smudge of soil or charcoal but a permanent fixture. I begin to remember, now, the day Conaglin of the Sídhe gave me this mark of servitude – my fiodh. It had been as familiar to me as my own name. But it all seems an otherworldly dream now.

I dry off and dress myself in a leine that was a gift from Flidais; it had belonged to her mother, Broom. Leaving my hair down to dry in the golden warmth, I run barefoot to Fraoch’s paddock, to visit my favorite bull, Tine. I am not expected back at the Rian’s house until breakfast, so I spend this moment with my friend, brushing his hide and singing to him a tribute to his bravery and strength.