The youth opened groggy eyes, struggling to come to full alertness. His hand moved, grasping for the dagger lying on the rocky floor beside the bedding. Liath Luachra, crouched alongside him, deftly moved it out of reach.
‘You don’t need to use that. Get up. We have to leave.’
She could barely see him as he sat up and peered blearily around. The fire had died out some time ago and now the little cavern was embedded in shadow as dark as a black pig’s hole.
‘It’s snowing.’
For a moment he could only return her stare, struggle to work out what she was talking about. Finally, she saw comprehension seep into his exhausted brain. He understood. If it was snowing, they could travel without fear of tracks. They could return to their valley and Ráth Bládhma without fear of leaving a trail that might reveal its location.
Without further protest, he rolled off the bedding and started rolling up the blanket.