From the 6th Century Ireland

And the Palaces of the Sidhe

To The Strife-Torn Streets of Modern Belfast...

Her man, the Bard Tadhg, was not this thing that shivered by the fire on the warmest summer days, his strange eyes vacant. 

Maire remembered Brigid's curse: May he wander far, and may you seek him down the years.

She tried to forget the words, and knelt beside the pool. 

She had never before seen the sacred trout in all the times she had come here. 

It turned sideways; it glowed amber, unafraid. Soundless, it spoke.