Tira left in the very early morning. Neither of them had slept, as Verity had worked through the night to learn the last few songs. But now the time was up: Tira needed to walk the four hours to get to the bay for the ship. And so they both stood in Verity's little hut, grey-faced, and embraced each other in the fire light.

'There are stories about his isle,' said Tira. 'That there's a cut in the earth, an unfinished stitch left from creation. That the reason rocks fall from the sky is that the world tries to fill the holes, heal the wound; but the world is big and the rocks are small, and they crash uselessly about. I came here because I was curious. The falling rocks are true enough. The runes are never wrong. I wonder about the rest. Really, you should come with me.'

But Verity had only ever known living near Holly Weaver, had followed her to this island, had no comprehension of a world without her, despite her being married, distant, forgotten. Verity shook her head, stupidly.

'I can't,' was all she said.

'So be it, then,' said Tira. 'The world looks after her own, Verity. She sees the gods of men, with their rules and demands; but the world loves all mortal things, but she loves us most of all. Be lucky. Use the things I taught you. Maybe you'll be fine. One day, I hope we meet again.'

Then she hugged Verity again, and left the hut, and walked to the forest road to Hod and beyond to the bay.