‘Brehon Aillín has seen it and accepted it as proof of Donnchad’s state of mind. But it can neither be destroyed nor proclaimed. For the time being, it will remain undisturbed in the Mound of the Dead.’
Eadulf rose to his feet and threw his piece of quaking grass into the stream, watching it swirl away in the eddies for a moment. Then he shook his head and looked up at the sky. There were some feathery-looking clouds high in the sky, the wisps almost blending together to form high ripples.
‘A mackerel sky,’ he remarked. ‘There might be somechangeable weather ahead. It has been warm for so long. We might have rain soon.’
Fidelma rose to join him. ‘Let us hope that there will be no storms before we reach Cashel.’
‘And when we reach Cashel?’
She regarded him sadly. ‘I have made my decision, Eadulf. You must now make your choice.’
