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It’s just that it’s our last afternoon alone with Lewen. Nina will have a whole caravan o‘ people with her and then he’ll be going away with them and we willna see him again for ages…”
    “No need to be reminding me, dear heart, I ken.” Lilanthe smiled at her and ruffled her wild brown locks. “He’ll be home for supper, though, and when ye’ve finished planting out the seeds ye can come and help me bake something special for him, if ye like.”
    Meriel agreed begrudgingly. Lewen smiled at her, feeling rather guilty. It was not that he did not enjoy his little sister’s company, it was just that she was so full of vitality. He felt a strong desire for quietness and reflection on his last afternoon in the forest.
    After he had cleaned his tools and put them away in the barn, he went back through the garden towards the house. It was a very pretty little house, with rose briars climbing over the back porch and a stone shield over the arched front door with a design of a weeping greenberry tree carved upon it. It had been built of the local rough grey stone, but so carefully that all the stones fitted together harmoniously, making sure no draughts could sneak in through gaps and cracks. Its lichen-green roof was very steep, so that the heavy snows of winter would slide off easily, and the windows were all large and paned with glass, so that the rooms were filled with sunshine in the warm, growing months. Long shutters with little heart shapes cut out in rows were now fastened securely back against the walls, but in winter they would be drawn across the windows, protecting the precious glass from hail and sleet, and keeping the warmth of the fire within. The doors and shutters and gables were all painted a soft green and the house was surrounded on all sides by a lovingly tended garden so it looked as if it had grown up from the earth rather than being assembled upon it.
    Lewen came through the kitchen garden with its hedges of evergreen rosemary, grinning at Meriel as she knelt in the freshly dug garden beds, carefully planting out her seeds. His mother came out onto the porch, with a satchel of food in her hands and a bundle of clean clothes.
    “Here ye are then, laddie. Do no‘ be late home now, do ye hear? Merry and I will be making ye a special supper for your last night at home. Will ye be home afore dark?”
    “I’m just going up to the waterfall, Mam. I’m no‘ intending to climb auld Hoarfrost.”
    “Aye, I ken. And I do no‘ fear ye doing something foolish. It’s just… och, it’s probably naught. Happen it’s because I ken ye are leaving soon and I wish to keep ye close. I’m sorry. Ye enjoy your tramp and I’ll see ye at supper.”
    “Aye, sure, Mam. I’ll be good, I promise.” He smiled at her cheekily, waved a quick goodbye and set off through the garden, rummaging in the satchel to see what she had packed for him. There was fresh baked bread and hard cheese and pickles, a fat wedge of fruitcake and, much to his satisfaction, a corked jar of cold ale.
    On the grassy slope by the lake, he stripped off his damp, grimy clothes and plunged into the water, which was icy cold but invigorating. He swam vigorously across the lake to the island, parting the willow fronds to slide into the cool green cavern beneath, as he had done since he was just a boy. He floated there for a moment, but it was far too cold out of the sunshine and so he swum fast back towards the shore. Greatly refreshed, he toweled himself dry and dressed again, buckling his witch’s dagger in its accustomed place at his belt and polishing his moonstone ring till it shone. He then followed a narrow green path into the woods, the nisse Kalea soaring swiftly ahead of him, her wings flashing.
    It was an ancient forest, and very dark and tangled. Many of the trees had been growing since long before humans came to Eileanan. They ascended into the sky like massive columns, their trunks green and velvety with moss, their branches