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followed her, she preferred they think she'd gone to sleep with her grief. She moved quickly, taking one last look around the small house to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Her aunt’s shawl caught her eye as she started out the door, and Ciara sucked in a sharp breath.
    The shepherd’s wife had made the wrap for Meriol -- a gift of gratitude for her skills as a healer. Ciara lifted it from where it hung over the back of the chair beside the fireplace. The fibers were soft and fine, and dyed a beautiful, deep green. She buried her face in it and inhaled deeply. The faint scent of rose hips tickled her nose, bringing with it a memory of the last time she and Meriol had gathered them.
    If she had only known it would truly be the last time.
    Ciara widened her eyes to keep the tears from falling. She'd done enough crying. Nothing could be undone with tears. She tucked the shawl over her arm and left the house, her hand lingering on the latch as she pulled the door shut. It belonged to Findley now, all of it, and Ciara doubted she would ever return. She silently wished the horse master good fortune and a long, happy life  Which would be more likely if he kept the Goddess out of it.
    Beyond the creek, the orange glow of the funeral fire shone like a small sun amidst the trees. Ciara rubbed her nose to try and remove the scent of burning cedar from her nostrils. She could only hope Bolin and Findley would remain in the grove. There'd be no way for her to explain her actions, especially to Bolin.
    Ciara hurried to the barn moving from one shadow to another, always under cover of the trees and away from the scattered patches of moonlight. No light showed through the cracks between the rough barn boards, but that didn't necessarily mean Findley hadn't returned, or that Purt -- the stable boy -- hadn't decided to sleep in the loft. Ciara steadied her breathing, called up a small bit of her earth magic, and let it spread out ahead of her.
    Meriol had taught her how to cast for people when a toddler from the nearby village had wandered off. Her aunt had likened it to a fisherman spreading his net in the water, only this net found people instead of fish. And this time it thankfully came up empty.
    Ciara leaned her shoulder against the door and shoved. The hinges groaned and she froze, holding her breath. One of the horses inside whickered softly.
    The night around her remained silent.
    She gave the door another shove, and grit her teeth as the hinges squealed in protest. "By all the unholies." She'd never heard the hinges make so much noise during the day. She would have drawn less notice standing on the roof and announcing her plans to the world.
    Using only the moonlight filtering through the door, and the holes in the roof Findley had yet to patch, Ciara gathered Fane’s tack and woke him from his slumber. He blinked sleepily and snuffled at her, always on the look-out for treats. Ciara slipped the bit into his mouth instead, and tugged the bridle over his ears. Her hands shook as she did the buckles. Part way through cinching up the girth she froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
    Ciara twisted around, her heart racing. But instead of finding Bolin, she found only Sandeen, who watched her from over his stall door, his ears pricked forward. Ciara made a face at the grey stallion. It wouldn't due to have him making a fuss when she left with Fane. Ciara crossed the aisle and held her open palm under his nose. Sandeen dipped his head and lipped at her fingers, and she reached up with her other hand to caress the side of his face.
    "Hush now, silly," she cooed to him. She let her earth magic trail from her fingertips and thread itself through her words. "You should be sleeping." She massaged the little swirl of hair between his eyes. "Sleep, my pretty boy."
    Sandeen tossed his head, fighting the spell, and Ciara strengthened the suggestion, drawing up a bit more magic until his eyelids started to droop.