[Undómë]

She was sleeping only lightly, much as she would do when in the summer pastures with her flock. And it was not a noise that woke her but rather the absence of such . . . the heavy quiet.

For most of the night she had heard Brand’s breathing and the ragged gasps as he tried to turn one way or another beneath his blankets. The sounds, too, of his blankets as he pushed them up or down, or as he scrunched the small cloth bag stuffed with a few shirts beneath his head, a lumpy pillow at best.

But now there were no little movements . . . and unless she strained her ears she could barely hear his breathing.

Meghan jumped to her feet, closing the short distance between herself and Brand in a few quick steps. She knelt down beside him, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And often between breaths was a long silent space.

His hair and pillow were drenched. Most likely from another fever that had come upon him. But as she touched his face, pale beneath his tan, the fever had fled and a grim chilliness remained. She brushed back some damp curls from his cheeks.

‘Brand!’ she called aloud to him, shaking his arm. When there was no response she took his limp hand and chafed it between her two, trying to drive some warmth back into him. ‘Brand! Wake up!’

There was no response to her plea. She grew more alarmed.

‘Leod, Come quickly!’ she called out loudly.