The birds began to sing a little earlier that day. Even before the glow of dawn, their chorus had begun. Alison lay beneath a warm layer of sheepskins, knowing it would soon be time to go outside and rekindle the fire.
She pushed at the mat that served as the door of their hut and looked out. The weather had turned cold and frost covered the ground.
Four moons had passed since they had arrived on the island. She had often asked Miralda when they would be able to leave and deliver the burden of Balduur's head to its final resting place. The old woman always said that the time had not yet come and they would know when it had arrived.
She replaced the mat and returned to her bed. She liked the little hut that Fury had built. He was good at things like that but he wasn't the man of her dreams. Time and experience had taught her that. Fury was timorous and knew little of the real world. His songs of love were just songs. He knew no more about making love than she did.
He awoke and looked outside anxiously.
'The birds ... that's a warning call.'
He often took fright. Alison had got used to it. She watched as he squeezed through the narrow doorway, pulling on his clothes. The birds were squawking louder now. She could tell something had caused them to take fright.
Fury reappeared. 'We've got to leave.' He tugged at her feet. 'You get Miralda. I'll take our things down to the coracles.'
'What's happening?'
'Someone's coming.'
'Shouldn't we find out who it is?'
'No.' Fury shook his head. 'By the time we've done that it could be too late. Do like the birds. They take flight when danger approaches and they don't return until it's safe.'
What Fury said made sense. Alison dressed hurriedly and went in search of Miralda. She found her beside the creek. The old woman was dressed in her hooded gown and carried Balduur's head in a bag that hung about her neck.
'We must leave at once,' Alison said.
'Why is that, my child?'
'Our friends, the birds, are warning us.'
'I hear them,' Miralda replied, 'and I hear another sound.'
Alison listened. 'All I can hear is a sort of squeaking.'
'Yes, my child. It is the sound a weasel makes. Do you think a weasel is coming in a boat?'
Alison shook her head.
'I think we should return the call.' The old woman put her fingers to her lips and made a series of high-pitched squeaks. Moments later, a coracle appeared. It left the main channel and came towards them through a gap in the reeds.