My breath caught in my throat as a stream of adrenaline surged through my body. Despite the anxious tremors that immediately seized me, I was on my feet within seconds, instinctively whipping out my phone from my pocket and turning on the flashlight. Trying to suppress the rising levels of panic, I conducted a frenzied scan of our refuge as I tried to locate the source of the 'voice,' with my eyes flicking around the barn rapidly under the torchlight as my heart hammered wildly my chest.

After a few seconds of frantic searching, my attention was caught by a dark silhouette in the air just behind Cormac, who was just starting to stir from his sleep.

Vibrating with terror, I raised the effulgent, artificial light, hoping for a more detailed view of the intruder.

The bright glare revealed a winged, shadowy creature, slightly larger than a bat and shaped like a dragonfly.

However, the encounter was brief, with the giant insect-like entity darting from view too quickly for me to make any additional observations regarding their appearance.

I spun around, shining the light wildly in a multitude of directions in an effort to locate the sprite.

Catching a glimpse of them near the barn door, I steadied my hand as I watched them disappear through a gap in the woodwork. A repeat of their previous warning echoed through my head, and it was clear from the intensity of it that the creature was projecting the same words at me again as it vacated the premises.

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

Bolting for the door, I yanked it open, determined to follow the mysterious intruder into the night.

However, I skidded to an abrupt halt only a few metres outside the entrance to the barn when there was no sign of them.

Concerned that being unsure of their whereabouts put me at a distinct disadvantage, I ensured I was poised and ready for any unexpected encounters. Scanning the moonlit landscape revealed no clues to the creature's location or direction of travel, leaving me agitated and confused.

Maintaining my heightened state of alert, I blinked into the darkness.

Had I just encountered one of the sidhe?

I found it highly improbable. Surely faeries didn't really exist?

But as I attempted, and failed, to find an alternative explanation, seeds of doubt started to sprout. I found myself questioning my conviction to my own rhetoric.

Could it be that you had been correct, and that this was perhaps the reason that the sidhe were firmly embedded in Irish folklore? Because there was some truth behind the reported sightings of these mythical beings after all?

The cool breeze gave me goosebumps as my mind drowned in half-formed and disjointed questions. How many sidhe were out there? What did they want? What had the sprite meant when they told me that I was out of time? Out of time for what?

A sudden touch to the back of my shoulder made me gasp. I whirled around, braced for an attack, to find Cormac startled and backing off defensively.

"What are you doing out here?" he hissed earnestly.

"I thought I saw one of the sidhe," I warned him as I continued to check our surroundings for any sign of the shadow.

"So, you thought you'd follow them?" he asked incredulously. "Don't you understand how dangerous they are?"

"There was one in the barn," I explained. "They woke me up. When I stood up and tried to see them properly, they suddenly seemed to get scared and bolted for the exit."

"Impossible," he countered. "The sidhe aren't scared of anything or anyone."

"Well, I can't think of any other reason why they would take off the way they did," I insisted as my eyes continued to flick around apprehensively. "They left in quite a hurry, and now it looks like they've gone. I'm pretty sure something spooked them, but I'll check out rest of the yard anyway."

"Wait."

Cormac's hand gripped my arm tightly before I could even take a step, drawing my attention to his moonlit features. Behind a thin sheen of tears, his glistening eyes betrayed an authentic deep-rooted fear, and concern was etched across his pallid face.

"I'll come with you," he offered after a few moments of silent deliberation.

I hesitated and then nodded slowly.

"Safety in numbers," I agreed.

As Cormac let go of my arm, I realised that the bright, full moon rendered the flashlight obsolete. I flicked it off, noting that the phone battery had drained to forty-two percent. With no way of charging it, I considered I may need to be more mindful if I wanted to extend its use as a torch.

Combing through the settings, I switched the device to 'airplane mode' in order to prevent it from looking for connections to any surrounding networks, since it wouldn't find any anyway, and a low power mode that still allowed the flashlight to be used, just in case we needed it.

Returning my attention to Cormac, I noticed that he'd been watching my actions with interest.

"Let's go this way," I suggested, indicating that we should conduct our investigation clockwise around the perimeter of the yard, partially to distract him from asking more questions.

The farm was eerily quiet as we scoured it for any signs of our elusive visitor, and as we crept past the farmhouse, I realised that I wasn't accustomed to this level of silence. Even at night I was used to hearing the hum of electricity pylons and the periodic sound of the occasional car as it drifted through the village, and I found the lack of these familiar noises somewhat disconcerting.

A brief rustling of leaves in the hedgerow drew my attention to a silhouette that looked like it could have been a fox disappearing into the undergrowth. But other than the foraging mammal, we encountered no other obvious signs of our uninvited guest as we circled back to the barn.

Once inside, I left the large door open enough to allow the natural glow of the moon to illuminate our temporary dwelling. The sidhe - if indeed that's what it was that had been in here previously - was still nowhere to be seen. However, it didn't stop us erring on the side of caution and checking the interior of the barn for any trace of the creature anyway.

Having satisfied ourselves that they were no longer in our immediate vicinity, we curled back under our respective blankets on the hay. We left the barn door open, reasoning that closing it hadn't prevented the sprite from entering before, and that the increased visibility gave us a slight advantage if they should return.

However, despite closing my eyes and attempting to go back to sleep, I felt too jittery to relax properly after the events that had just passed. Just because the sidhe had gone for now, didn't necessarily mean that they would stay away for the rest of the night.

After twenty or thirty minutes of restlessness, I decided to check the perimeter again. It wasn't like I was going to get any peace from my active mind and the 'what if?' scenarios it kept posing, so I figured I should probably do something useful instead.

I didn't get very far before I heard Cormac's anxious voice from behind me, just as I was about to step into the yard outside.

"Where are you going?"

Turning to face him, I saw he was sitting up with the same look of concern he had given me the last time I'd gone after the sidhe.

Not wanting to alarm him unnecessarily, I decided to play down any fears I had.

"Out for a walk. I couldn't sleep."

Cormac swung his legs over the edge of the makeshift bed.

"I'll come with you."

"No, you should get your rest," I insisted.

Stopping in his tracks, his expression instantly turned from concerned to panicked. It was evident from the way his face contorted that he quickly tried to hide the emotional reaction he was having, but his quivering lip betrayed him.

Stepping away from the door and approaching him slowly, I tilted my head slightly to one side.

"What's going on for you?" I asked as I sat next to him on the hay bale.

"Nothing," he replied with forced nonchalance.

It was too late, though. I'd already seen it.

The Brave Face.

The same one I'd used myself, many times.

From when I scraped my knee falling off my bicycle at five years old, to when the insults flew through the school corridors just after I came out as gay, The Brave Face had always been used as shield against possible judgment by those around me.

Cormac's own Brave Face was likely to have been present since the fire, but now that his emotions were surfacing, it was evident that it was cracking under the pressure bubbling up inside him.

I didn't want him to crumble, and I knew there was no need for such a façade here. I decided it might be a good idea to try to communicate that to him.

"It's been a tough couple of days," I pointed out gently. "I think we're both feeling pretty shaken up."

Cormac shot me a sideways glance.

"You seem to be doing all right."

I chuckled humourlessly.

"I'm not. The main reason I couldn't sleep was because I was afraid of whatever it was that found its way in here tonight," I confessed, hoping he might find comfort in me opening up about my emotions.

Silence ensued as he appeared to process what I said.

"I didn't think you were the type to get frightened," he mused after a short while.

"Everybody gets frightened," I countered.

"You ran into a fire to get me out," he challenged. "And the way you chased that sidhe! I've never known anyone to do that before. Throughout the entire day, you constantly seemed to be fine."

I sighed, recalling that in this century, mental health wasn't openly discussed, and men were generally brought up to hide any emotions that might be interpreted as 'weak.'

"Nobody is always fine," I stated. "It takes strength to admit when you're not. So let me be honest with you. I was terrified of both the sidhe and of running into the fire. The idea of that creature returning petrifies me, and I'm not ashamed of that. Fear is universal, and perfectly normal."

"Normal..." he repeated, apparently digesting my words, his head bowing slightly as he looked away.

"Absolutely," I confirmed gently. "Look, I've been judged before. I know how nasty people can get. All I'm trying to say is that I'm not like that. So, if you want to talk about what's bothering you, and you think it might help you to share it, and I'm happy to listen."

"I'm fine," he reiterated without making eye contact, instead pulling a single strand of hay from the bale and fiddling with it. "It was just a bad dream."

"Dreams can seem very realistic when we're in them," I assured him, suspecting he was still playing it down. "I've often had dreams where I'm drowning, and it's terrifying. They make me feel so out of control and helpless that I tend to wake up panicked and out of breath. It always takes me a while to calm down afterwards."

Cormac twisted his head so that he was facing me, his wide aquamarine eyes connecting with mine as his stance softened.

"Really?" he asked timidly.

"Really," I reiterated with a hint of an encouraging smile. "And I feel better for telling you. Perhaps it might help you feel better to talk about it, too."

His gaze drifting back to the strand of hay between his fingers.

"I was back in the fire in mine," he admitted after a moment of deliberation. "Only this time, you weren't there to get me out. The flames were all around me, and I had no idea which way to go because it was like the fire was everywhere. I was trapped on all sides, and I couldn't see much because of all the smoke. Bits of wood were falling past my head and the house started collapsing around me. I called for help, but nobody came. All I could think was that I didn't want to die alone in there. So, when I woke and saw you leaving..."

Cormac's voice croaked, his words tailing off as anguished sobs took their place.

"You were worried what would happen if you were left on your own again," I realised, quietly finishing the sentence for him.

It made sense that he'd make a connection between harrowing incidents and isolation. I knew that being alone could often induce feelings of vulnerability even without a history of traumatic events. Not only had Cormac been by himself when his house was burning around him, but he'd also encountered his first sidhe when he was on his own at twelve years old. It was little wonder he'd panicked at the thought of me deserting him, especially when he was now spending the night on relatively unfamiliar territory.

Putting one arm around his shoulders, I pulled him towards me with the other, and he crumpled into my embrace. I held him with his head resting in the crook of my neck, allowing him to cry as much as he needed to, letting my shirt soak up his tears. Presumably this was a delayed shock reaction to the events of the previous night, bubbling over as the reality of the situation started to sink in. He'd held it together in the immediate aftermath of his ordeal as he instinctively prioritised survival. Now that he had secured food and shelter, it seemed his mind was reshuffling what it needed. The next immediate requirement for him was to feel safe and comforted, and apparently for him, that meant companionship.

I didn't know whether I was helping or not in that regard, but I was the only one available. Determined to do my best, I just had to hope it was enough.

As I continued to hold him silently, I tried to remember whether Cormac had been awake and alone at any point since I'd pulled him out of the blaze. Scanning through my memory of the last twenty-four hours, my recollection was that during his lucid moments he'd either been in the company of either myself or Mrs Doyle, or at least had visibility of one of us. It wasn't clear whether his decisions around this had been made consciously or not, but either way, Cormac had obviously been struggling more than he'd let on.

I don't know how long it took before he cried himself out, but eventually his breathing started to ease, and his sobs became intermittent. I found myself gradually supporting more of his weight until it was evident from the way in which he was slumped against me that he'd exhausted himself into unconsciousness.

Leaning my body sideways, I guided his weary head back to the hay bale and covered his limp torso with the thick blanket, sighing at the distressing situation as I tucked the warming layer around him. My gaze drifted over his face, tracing every feature as my fingers gently pushed a lock of his auburn hair from his forehead.

Despite the inner turmoil he'd been facing, I took some solace in the fact that Cormac could have this peaceful moment, and I hoped his dreams would be kinder to him than reality had been. Having already dealt with so much, and with further uncertainty in his future, it was little wonder he was grappling with his emotions.

As I lay down facing him on my own hay-bale and allowed my eyes to close, I tried to focus on the present. I convinced myself that given the circumstances, it was pointless to concern myself with what might yet be to come. Instead, I tried to relax by regulating my breathing and concentrating on enjoying the quiet tranquility currently surrounding me. Reasoning that there was no way to know how long it would last for any of us, I allowed slumber to envelop me.