Tired, hungry, alone, and soaked, he held hope in his heart. The Fae fish had given him a clue to finding his grandmother’s home. Did she still live there? He hadn’t asked how long ago the Fae fish remembered her from. Somewhere out there, he also had friends to help him. Those friends carried his net, his clothing, and his tools.
However, after seasons alone, he decided those friends mattered more than any of the material things they carried for him.
* * *
The rhythm of the raindrops lulled Fingin to sleep. He remained cold and wet, but at least he felt safe and secluded, despite his precarious position on a spit of land within a raging summer storm. As the darkness fell, he snored.
When he stretched awake, the world dripped with more than the morning dew. The earthy scent of wet pine needles filled his nostrils, along with the tang of the air and the musty odor of seaweed.
The rich smells reminded his stomach he hadn’t eaten for far too long. He had no net, but the shore had other treats. Fingin walked to some rocks along the beach and peered into the hollows for clams or oysters. He had no knife to pry open their shells, or fire to cook them, but he’d leapt this hurdle before. This time, he didn’t cut his finger. Somehow, the oyster didn’t seem as disgusting as it had been the first time he’d choked it down. The saltiness of the seawater helped.
He shouted for Bran and Sean but knew he’d have to go search for them. Fixing the spot in his mind so he’d find it again when he needed to, he turned up the beach toward where he’d left with the monks. His friends likely waited for him near that spot.
Fingin took his time walking along the beach, enjoying the post-storm air. The metallic scent tickled his nose, and he sneezed a few times as he climbed over rocky outcroppings, seaweed piles, and pebble washes.
He imagined his grandmother living in this place, at the liminal border between the land and the water, a place of balance, danger, and magic. If she sang to the dolphins, did they make friends with her? Did she have any friends here? Or did she live on her own?
A bark in the distance jerked him from his reverie, and he swiveled his head to find Bran. In the far distance, two dots moved toward him. He grinned, anticipating the reunion.
When Bran caught up to him, the hound covered him with slobbering licks, to the point he had to fend off the enthusiasm or risk losing the top layer of his skin. Sean greeted him with less effusion, but still expressed relief at having found him again.
“Bran didn’t wait patiently. He’s been running up and down this coastline searching for you since you left.”
Bran jumped around him. “Did you find her? Did you find her? I don’t see her. You didn’t bring her back, though.”
He shook his head with a chuckle. “No, I didn’t find her. I found someone who knew her, though. And it’s possible she’s living nearby. Our next goal is to find her home. It should be around that bend back there. At least, that’s what the Fae fish said.”
“You had another raft?”
“No, no raft. But the Fae fish brought me back until the storm hit.”
Bran woofed and shook his head. “I don’t like the storms on the sea.”
“No more do I, my friend.”
“Do you have fish? I finished the ones you left me.”
He laughed, ruffling Bran’s fur. “No, but we can get some. Let me pull my net out.”
The actions of casting and drawing his net, cleaning the fish, and then setting up a fire to cook them helped him settle his mind and his thoughts. Now he had his friends once again, he’d find his grandmother with a lighter heart. They set off along the beach after a brief meal.
Despite the mostly clear sky, a quick shower dampened their spirits. Nothing nearby offered cover, so they pushed on through the brief rain. The sand below them turned to mud and became difficult to walk through, so they moved inland to the treeline. While the way didn’t seem as clear, their feet had more purchase with the thicker ground cover. They could still glimpse the shoreline, so any structure would be in full view.
The sun rose to its zenith before they got too far. Surprised, Fingin tried to figure out how much time he’d spent that day. He must have slept on the beach longer than he’d imagined, halfway through the morning.
The edge of land crinkled here in the west, dipping in and out again. Frequent hills and rocks made it difficult to see around the next bend, so the trip became a long slog in and out of small inlets. Exhausted from all he’d been through the last few days, Fingin collapsed.
They camped on the shore, a small, cheerful fire to keep back the darkness. The sky had cleared, revealing a blanket of twinkling stars above them, and he swore the ocean glowed from the sun after it set.
For the first time in a long time, Fingin realized he’d found peace, despite still being on a mad quest. He felt happiness. This epiphany was no small thing, for he’d only ever been content with his life. But with Bran and Sean and his own dawning confidence in his ability to fend for himself in the wide world, he found something stronger, something deeper than mere survival.
He enfolded this nugget of joy in his hands, smiling at it and tucking it into his memory. He’d take it out when he needed reassurance of his own worth, a recollection of when he made the right decisions to battle against his
