The following day was the last I saw of Aoife for a while. It was unusually cool that day, and the birds had given up all pretence of quiet. Aoife, on the other hand, was a stark contrast to the loud birds. She seemed deep in thought as she made her usual way to the bakery. She did not stop for flowers, or even the odd grasshopper. Clenched in her little palm was a small, brown pouch, faded, though not tattered. Although a pouch with holes would render the need for one moot. Among the browning wildflowers and grass, which rather matched her hair, I should think, her pink dress stood out that day, reminiscent of the soft petals that once surrounded her home. Why, it seemed to be the best one she owned for all that it appeared new in a town that looked so old and weary.

The small bell jingled as she pushed the door to the bakery open, eyes pressed shut almost as if hoping it wouldn't creak against the floor. There were no customers. It happened that the lack of customers was not so much due to Aoife's regular and unhindered presence, as I had initially thought. Indeed, I had come to understand that most of their business came from delivering to nearby cities, and that their sales in the town was, in fact, negligible. The only sales they had, I suppose, were from the few who could afford it in the little town. Them, and of course, the occasional staff of their more frequent patrons, come to place an order for the household. So it was that the little girl walked into the empty bakery, her head almost tucked between her shoulders. It was rather funny in the grand scheme of things, the way she brightened up instantly when she spotted Oisín behind the counter, and not Aódhan, as she had no doubt expected. That latter was at the store, though, and had just walked into the storeroom at the back as we arrived.

"Ah, Aoife, mo leanbh! There you are," he said, meeting her halfway as she made her way to the other side of the counter. "Well, you are all dolled up, aren't you?"

She smiled wide at that, just as excited as she was bashful.

"Come on, then, don't keep me waiting! What's the occasion?"

"Oh, Orla called me over to play today," she said, looking down at her feet as she moved it about the heel. "Her mom doesn't really know, but da says I should be good for her if she does find us. That's why he gave me this!" Aoife stood up on her toes, emptying the little purse over the counter. Then with all the grandeur of one conducting business, she said "I'll have some of those apple cakes, please." And then, with a sharp nod, she took a step back, looking rather pleased with herself.

"And would the lady like a scone? Freshly baked, this one."

Aoife looked back at the coins she had left over the counter. "Just one, maybe? You can put one in place of a cake. Thank you uncail," she exclaimed, reaching over for a hug that looked rather uncomfortable with the slab between them, but neither looked even the least bothered by it. "Can I do anything?"

"Not much to do here, dear. Your aintin Alma does most of the baking anyway."

"Hmm. Can I go help in the back, like last time?"

Oisín's brows furrowed slightly at that. "Didn't you say Orla invited you to go play with her today? We don't want to be late, hmm?"

"Oh no, she said after lunch!"

"I'm sure you've had lunch," he said with a smile, leaning forward.

"You know I did, uncail," she giggled, as though she couldn't believe anyone could be so silly. "What is he doing anyway?"

"Aódhan? I suppose he's setting out whatever needs to be taken to Parsonstown."

"Oh." Aoife looked past where her cousin stood amidst confections of various kinds, taking what looked like notes. A large leather trunk lay gaping beside him. Aódhan, for his part, must have noticed he was being watched, for he put the paper down with a rather heavy sigh and turned around.

"Do you need something?"

She looked once more at the large trunk and the piles of goods around it. It seemed rather like a lonely and boring job to be doing. "Uncail said you were packing. Can I help?"

She stood waiting at the threshold until he answered, which was a fair few moments later. "Alright."

For someone who was as animated as a butterfly on a sunny spring morning, Aoife was remarkably quiet as she made her way to her older cousin.

"Can you read?" He asked, holding out the paper in hand.

"Yes! Athair taught me."

Aódhan didn't quite scoff at that, but I could tell it was a near thing. "Good. Just read out the ones marked Par."

The paper seemed to be a list of orders, and indeed, surrounding her were varieties of bread, cake, brack and buns. And so she read, every now and then taking whatever Aódhan picked out from the shelves and packing them in with the rest of the order. It was just as quiet as it had been with Nolan, though perhaps it wasn't quite the same. With Nolan, the boy hadn't known what to say. With Aódhan, it just looked like he would rather do anything but talk to the little girl his father entertained at their bakery from time to time. The hour flew by quickly, and before long, Oisín was standing by the door, reminding her that it was quite past noon by then.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Thank you, uncail, I'll just finish this one," she said, looking up at Aódhan, who nodded a short approval. She put together the guinness porter cakes that she had laid out before her along with the rock buns, counted them all in quick succession, and packed them neatly next to each other in the trunk. Aoife then stood up, brushing the dust of her dress, called out a quick thank you, and rushed out the storeroom. It just wouldn't do to be late!

"Ai, Aoife, don't you forget these!" Oisin called, holding up the small bagful of treats she had bought just an hour ago.

"Oh, thank you uncail!" And with a quick hug, she ran back out the door, and past the street. It was only when she was almost halfway to her own house that she stopped short, breathing heavily. Perhaps she decided meeting her friend all sweaty and panting would not be the best start to their newfound friendship, never mind that she had run into the girl once already. The girl continued to walk down the larger road; the smaller, less trod path, led home. Here, farther from the heart of Saol, the wind was more moist than usual, and the faint whispers of the Shannon still filled the air, though not so much as the stench of dying crops. Aoife had further begun to slow her steps when she finally spotted Orla, waving widely at her from where she stood out in the field. That was all the encouragement it took Aoife to run the rest of the way. I briefly wondered what my companion was doing in the meanwhile–probably laundry. Noon was not the best time to be wailing, not when most people spared nary a glance, lost in the bustle of what little activities remained in their day these days. There were enough hours after sundown, and less enough people to warn yet, though the numbers would rise sooner rather than later.

"Aoife, you came! What've you got there?" She asked, pointing to the parcel Aoife had brought with her.

"Oh, they're for us! Mostly for you, though," she added bashfully. "I really like those apple cakes. Uncail Oisin's are the best!"

"I wouldn't know, but I'll trust you. I haven't had anything but oats in a while now. And maybe a herring if we got lucky."

"Me too, though we haven't had herrings in a while either." A thoughtful pause. "Does it always smell like this?"

"Oh, that's just the potatoes, silly," Orla said. "They almost always smell like this. Da says the smell is a little stronger this year because the weather's so cool and sticky."

"Hmm," Aoife nodded, wrinkling her nose. "So what shall we play?"

I did not stay to watch them frolick, not that they would have been visible overmuch from where I stood. Instead, I made my way to the farther reaches of Saol. Farther still, than Aoife's home. There were a few households to visit, some with more than one person to call upon. I waited longer than usual at one of these houses; the mother was a fair bit more stubborn than her child. She followed when I told her it wouldn't be long before she would be reunited with her family anyway. It would only be a matter of days, and time would pass rather quickly when there was neither breath nor beat to measure its passing.

I returned to the forest rather late that night. The moon, now shaped more like a blaa, still shone bright. My companion was kneeling by the starlit bank, a hand in the water as Aoife had done when she first stumbled upon us.

"Tell me, whatever you have come to say."

"Oh, nothing at all. I only thought you'd like to know what happened of Aoife's playdate."

She turned around in an instant, eyes wide, though with excitement or alarm, I couldn't say for certain.

"She met Aódhan again too, at her uncle's bakery."

It didn't take long for her to make conversation after that. It had been rather a matter of contention as to whether or not this Aódhan was 'terrible', though I suppose the fact that he had let her help led to my companion holding out on making a decision for a good while yet. It would be years, in fact, before he got on her good side, or she on his, but at the time, we agreed the meeting had gone better than expected.

For a few months after that, I heard nothing but the occasional comment on the girl, if my companion happened to spot her. For a time, it was about how waifish she still looked, with not enough meat on her bones. Then, it was an anecdote or two about the time she spent with Orla. She'd even made one other friend during the time, though neither of us caught wind of the girl's name. On more than one occasion, Nolan had been spotted talking to his cousin, and by all appearances, the girl was happier than she had been in a while.

Many a moon passed with remarkably few events of import, save for the work that had brought us to Saol. There was that one day when I heard Orla's family had been cast out of the land by its owners, but besides the muted mutterings of discontent, there wasn't much to say. It was like the town had woken up, only then realising that the slow turn to decay had quickly gained pace, and was now knocking at their very doorsteps. A perpetual air of mourning had set in, and even my companion had taken to sitting in silence when she returned.

It is for this reason that I was caught entirely off guard when, one moonless night, I returned to a forest that echoed with the distraught wails. Her scraggly white hair was in disarray, the clothes around her scattered. Her voice shook, dripping with accusation and the sting of betrayal.

"I told you. I told you not to, and I trusted that you'd listen."

"You have my word," I said. "I haven't been to visit any of them." Little Orla, I had met a few days past, but that meeting was of little consequence to our discussion.

"You lie," she said, teeth bared.

I was quite affronted that she would think I'd done anything to break my word. After all, I am the only truth there is.

"I do not lie, child. Tell me what you think I have done, and we can put your fears to rest, hmm?"

The words that followed were a haunted whisper. "She heard me."