I felt the wind stir behind me, the whisper of the dark ocean.
“Dorin,” I said, and then blushed at the stupidity of my response, for how was he to know who I was.
“Who’s Dorin?” the voice from behind the bell demanded.
I shrugged.
“Me. I’m Dorin.”
Slowly, cautiously, like a frightened animal emerging into some forest glade, Ailbe stepped forth, his fringe in his eyes, an oversized T-shirt obviously inherited from an older sibling draped about his small frame, a smiley face in yellow with crosses for eyes and its tongue sticking out.
Being confronted with him then, in that moment, on that early morning, was a relief. Clearly the runt of the litter, there was something fragile and unlovable about Ailbe, that same thing that made you angry when you saw stray dogs, and made you want to
