Eadulf set off to gather firewood, while Gormán saw to the horses in a small enclosed space behind the building. Perhaps it had once been the garden of the religious who had occupied the little chapel. The wooden fencing had only been damaged slightly and the warrior was able to rearrange the railings to make a secure paddock. The grasses had grown wild and were enough for the animals to graze upon.
Fidelma had asked Gormán to locate a spring or brook where they might find fresh water. No settlement was built without a supply of fresh water. Gormán, who had brought the goatskin water bags with him, set off to look amongst the burned ruins of the homesteads that had sprawled around the stone church. There was no immediate sign of a brook flowing through the centre of the settlement and so the young warrior realised it must run outside its blackened borders. Logic told him that if there was a spring it would rise on the hill behind. He began to move in that direction when a faint sound caught his ear. It came from the far side of the desolate remains of the buildings. Once more, he eased his sword in its scabbard and moved forward carefully and silently, making sure that he stayed close to the cover afforded by what remained of the buildings. As he grew nearer to the sounds, he recognised them as the high-pitched yelping and growling of puppies.
The end of the ruined village was marked by the very gushing burn he had been seeking. It came tumbling down the hillside of Cnoc Ulla, snaking its way onwards across the plain. In and across this small burn frolicked four clumsy grey puppies, snarling, biting and play-fighting with each other. Gormán smiled and was about to relax when his eyes caught sight of a majestic, immobile figure. Seated on a round rock by the burn was a magnificent slate-grey animal, the mother wolf watching her progeny at play through slanted green eyes, edged with red. There was white fur around her muzzle, her sharp yellowing fangs snapping now and then as one of the puppies came tumbling too close.
Gormán froze as he watched her, for he knew how dangerous it was to be close to a mother wolf protecting her young offspring at play. He knew of the ferocity and might of those sharp fangs, the power of those muscles in that heavy-set animal. He hardly dared breathe in case the intake of his breath came to the sharp ears of the wolf. His blood turned to ice as he saw the ears of the beast prick forward and the muzzle rise as her nostrils sniffed the air. A moment later came a sound high above on the hillside. The she-wolf rose and it seemed her mane stiffened and she bared her fangs. Now, clearly, above them, carried on the breeze, came a curious wailing sound. Gormán recognised it as the hunting call of the wolves. The beast turned and let out a series of short, sharp barks, before trotting off up the hillside. The four puppies ceased their play immediately and, in obedience to her call, went scampering after her.
It was some time before Gormán felt the tension in his body release. When he was sure that the vixen and her brood were gone he made his way slowly to the burn, following it up the hill a little before dipping his hand into the water to taste it to ensure it was clean and fresh. Keeping one eye on the slopes of the hill for any threatening movement, he filled his water bags. The sky was almost dark when he returned to the chapel where Eadulf had already lit a fire which provided both light and heat for the cold night that would soon be upon them. They could already feel a chilly breeze crossing the plains and whispering around the isolated hill under which they sheltered.
‘Is all well, Gormán?’ Fidelma asked as he entered the ruins of the chapel. She had been preparing a cold meal. ‘You were a long time.’
‘I came upon a she-wolf and her offspring at the far end of the village,’ he told her. ‘I felt it wise not to announce my presence. The animal was watching over her cubs. Anyway, they have gone up the hill now but it would be wise if we made sure the fire was well lit through the night. There is a pack nearby.’
‘A wise precaution,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘Did you see anything that might give a clue about the destruction of the village?’
‘So far as I can tell, the whole settlement seemed totally abandoned after its destruction,’ Gormán replied. ‘That is,’ he added, ‘if there was anyone left to abandon it. Either there were some survivors or others came along and tidied away any human remains. It seems that Étain’s rebels from the Glen of Lunatics did a thorough job of destruction.’
‘Well, at least we do not have to worry about them,’ said Eadulf as he stacked more wood on the fire. He had brought in quite a store to last them through the night.
‘Perhaps,’ Gormán said shortly.