"Aidan."

I felt Cormac touch my arm lightly as his soft voice broke through my dissociation.

"Sorry," I blinked, my brain still clouded.

Concentrating my efforts on the moment, I turned my head towards him such that my eyes met his turquoise ones.

"Are you all right?" he asked, clearly concerned.

Good question.

"Yeah," I managed. "I was just admiring the kitchen."

While it wasn't the whole truth, it wasn't a lie either. And it was easier than fully disclosing what had really been going on for me, especially as I was still feeling a little dazed.

"Mrs Doyle was just asking if you brought clothes with you on your travels," he explained gently. "She's offering us some of her late husband's for using while we stay with her."

"Seamus was probably about your size," she affirmed. "And you probably don't want to be wearin' that 'round these parts," she then added, indicating my twenty-first century attire.

"That's very thoughtful of you," I told her with sincerity. "If you're sure you don't mind, I'm sure we'd both be grateful for any clothes you can spare."

"Aye, well, it's not like Seamus is usin' them anymore," she pointed out.

Regardless of how blasé she made her statement seem, I was aware there may be some sentimental value attached to them and I wanted to at least try to be mindful of that.

"At least let me earn our keep by helping you while we stay here. As you said before, the farm is too much for you to run on your own."

"Aye, that's fair and decent," she agreed as she turned to exit the room. "You can start properly tomorrow. Today's been a long day for you already, and there's nothin' urgent that needs attention. But if you want to wash those bowls and collect up some eggs for ready for the market, you'd already be makin' yourself useful."

"Of course," I smiled as she slipped through the door, intending to do whatever seemed sensible to maintain our alliance.

"That wasn't the look of someone admiring a kitchen," Cormac whispered earnestly after Mrs Doyle was out of sight. "Are you sure you're all right?"

I noted his hand was still on my arm. Not that I minded in the slightest. In fact, I found it comforting.

However, the act of me glancing at it, even briefly, seemed to give him cause to disconnect from me and step back a little awkwardly.

"I'm all right," I assured him as I crossed the room to the sink and rolled up my sleeves. It seemed Mrs Doyle had already prepared some warm water for this task, which meant I could set to work immediately. "Something about being in here reminded me of going home, that's all."

"Your home is like this one, then?" Cormac inferred as he followed me, leaning with his back against the nearest counter and folding one ankle across the other.

"No," I sighed, shaking my head as I continued washing the crockery. "Far from it, in fact. Everything here is very different from what I'm used to."

"You sound like you miss it," he observed, not that I'd had much time to think too hard about that until I'd stepped inside the house. "How long are you planning to stay?"

"Well, considering I didn't really plan to be here in the first place, I'm not sure," I admitted as I put the last of the bowls on the worktop to dry and wrung out the cloth. "I need to work out how to get home before I can make any decisions on how long to stay."

"You don't know how to get home?"

"No. I have no idea," I confessed as I brought my gaze up to meet his. His aquamarine eyes held so much compassion for someone who had just lost his own dwelling. "But you shouldn't worry about me. In theory, assuming I can get to it, I have somewhere I can go. We should be concentrating our efforts on you. Do you have any family locally you could stay with?"

Cormac lowered his eyes and shook his head, as if there was something about my question that made him uncomfortable.

"All right. Well, I'm sure we can get something worked out. How are you feeling now?" I asked.

"A lot better after that soup," he confirmed, in a genuine tone, lifting his gaze again.

I was relieved, although still surprised that he appeared to be dealing with the situation so well.

"Good. In which case I'll collect up some eggs for Mrs Doyle," I stated as I stepped past him to investigate a wicker basket that I'd spotted in the far corner of the room. It was lined with soft material and seemed ideal for the task, so I picked it up and strode to the door.

"Mind if I come with you?"

"It would be nice to have the company," I admitted. "But don't start trying to help," I added, nodding towards his arm and stepping outside. "You need to focus on healing."

Cormac rolled his eyes but didn't object as we made our way into the throng of clucking hens. The birds scratched and pecked at the earth around us while I began gathering their eggs, which came in an assortment of sizes and varying shades of brown and cream.

"So, how did you know my name last night?" he asked as I executed my task. "I've never seen you before, and you're clearly not local," he added, indicating my clothing.

"You're not going to believe it was a lucky guess, are you?" I ventured, unsure how to tell him the truth without sounding like I was crazy.

Cormac shook his head.

"No, I think it was part of your magic," he stated and then paused, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "Are you working with the sidhe?"

"I've never even seen one of the sidhe," I assured him.

His stance relaxed immediately.

"Consider yourself lucky."

I wasn't sure whether this would be an appropriate time to reassure him that faeries didn't exist, since his concerns about them seemed genuine. However, I knew the depth to which folklore and superstition were embedded in traditional Irish customs and beliefs, and realised it wasn't my place to deprive him of his cultural heritage.

"I do," I replied, aware that I had started to exhaust the obvious egg locations. Deciding that I should apply a little more creativity and diligence, I laid the basket on the ground and knelt in search of any potential additional bounty that may have rolled under the nest boxes. "So, have you ever seen one of the sidhe?"

"Aye," he confirmed, looking thoughtful as I scoured the earth for hidden eggs. "Four times so far, and that's enough for me. The first time I was twelve years old, and my Mam had sent me to gather wild mushrooms out by the river at dusk. She warned me not to cross the river because of the sidhe, but at the time I thought it was just what folk told their kids to keep them from wandering off too far. I knew there was a little wooden bridge where the river narrows and decided to see what I could find on the other side. I thought I was in luck when I found a faery ring - a whole patch of the largest wild mushrooms if ever seen, all in a circle."

Having found a couple of stray eggs and placed them in the wicker basket, I stood and brushed the dirt from my jeans before staring at him incredulously.

"That's where you saw the sidhe?"

Looking directly into my eyes, he simply nodded and said, "Aye."

"Perhaps it was just a bat?" I suggested.

Reasoning that Cormac had mentioned that he'd been out at dusk, I'd quickly concluded that the sighting of a bat made logical sense. As well as being with the time of day that the small rodents usually emerged to hunt, the waning of any natural light would have impacted the clarity with which he'd have been able to see a creature hovering in the air around him.

"A bat wouldn't have warned me to stay away," he countered.

Narrowing my eyes, I studied his expression with scepticism.

"It spoke to you?"

"Aye. It told me to leave."

Raising an eyebrow, I deliberated over the implications of Cormac's revelation. I recalled that upon first reading his journal, I'd considered the possibility that he may have been suffering from a form of PTSD where the symptoms included hallucinations.

But now I was questioning that notion. Mrs Doyle had not only also attested to have seen one of the sidhe, but I recalled her mentioning that her late husband had claimed to have encountered one at the top of Eithne's Crag as well. It didn't seem likely that they all happened to be suffering with the same affliction.

However, the only other sensible explanation appeared to be that the existence of these legendary creatures was real, and that notion seemed prosperous to me.

"So, you've never gone back there?" I surmised, still turning the various possibilities over in my mind.

"I've had no reason to go back and every reason to stay away," he stated, sounding adamant.

"That's fair," I concluded as I picked up the basket of eggs and crossed the yard, heading towards the farmhouse. "If I'd been in your situation, I doubt I'd have crossed the river again after that experience."

As we stepped through the oak door that led into the kitchen, we were greeted by Mrs Doyle. True to her word, she'd returned with a selection of work trousers, shirts and other attire typical of the early nineteenth century working class, which had presumably once belonged to her late husband.

Cormac and I sorted through the clothing late into the afternoon, taking turns to try different items on for size and concluding that between us we were likely to be able to make use of most of it.

Although our magnanimous host had mentioned it previously, it became increasingly apparent as the day progressed that the shift in Mrs Doyle's attitude towards us was largely due to her belief in my magical abilities.

I didn't know how I felt about that, given that I had no inherent supernatural gifts and that it was simply the tools in my pocket that had provided her with the illusion from which she'd drawn her conclusions. Staying with her under false pretences felt like taking advantage of her kind nature. But, while I didn't want to intentionally mislead anyone, I couldn't fathom how to even begin trying to explain the truth to her either, especially when I wasn't sure of it myself. And so, despite feeling a little uncomfortable with the reasons behind her benevolence, I nodded in the right places and accepted her hospitality, reasoning that it was the best solution in the short term for the purpose of helping Cormac recover from his ordeal.

After sorting through the clothes and accepting a generous portion of bread and goats' cheese from Mrs Doyle, I excused myself to go to the barn, where I made another makeshift bed out of the hay bales. It was still relatively early in the evening, and although the sun had just set, it's afterglow projected a warm lustre across the yard as I shifted the blocks into their positions parallel to the others I'd used previously.

Cormac joined me soon afterwards with two rudimentary blankets and a chamber pot that Mrs Doyle had given him. Stating that he was tired as he climbed onto one of the hay-beds, he threw me one of the thick, woven coverings with his good arm. Laying down on the other stack, I concluded that it was little wonder we were both fatigued after such a long day. Not only had Cormac been awake since the early hours of the morning, but he'd also been at the centre of a terrifying and traumatic event. I'd been awake for longer than a standard day due to the time difference I'd experienced after passing through the rings, and I had a lot to process, including how I was going to get back to the twenty-first century.

There was certainly much to consider, but my mind was clouding over with exhaustion. Any additional thoughts I had swirled and dissipated as I allowed my eyes to close and sleep to consume me.

I wasn't sure what woke me, but opening my eyes did didn't reveal any clues. Finding myself immersed in pitch black, it was clear that dawn had not yet arrived, therefore the cockerel was not likely to have been the source of the disturbance.

Normally a heavy sleeper, I considered that perhaps the change of environment had me on high alert. Either that, or it could be that I'd simply rolled onto an uncomfortable part of the hay I was lying on and been given a physical jolt by a stray strand poking out.

Listening carefully for any sign of life as I lay motionless in the darkness, I heard only the distant call of a barn owl. Briefly torn between investigating further and returning to my slumber, I decided not to let my imagination get the better of me and opted for the latter, allowing my heavy eyelids to flutter shut.

As I drifted back to sleep, I justified my decision to myself further. Stumbling around in the darkness for no tangible reason would probably just result in tripping over my own feet and waking Cormac. Besides, I was still incredibly tired from the events of that the day, and it was a good idea to give my body the rest it needed.

I was on the cusp of oblivion when I heard it. An ethereal voice that seemed to float through my mind rather than being heard through my ears in the usual manner. It sounded neither male nor female, or even human for that matter. Yet the words it spoke were clear, concise, and unmistakably intended for me.

"We need to use the Amfáinne. You're out of time."