Arkady nodded, up to his elbows in sudsy water. “Meet you at the jetty in an hour.” He shook his head and smiled. “Good luck, Strawhead. You are going to need it.”
* * * *
The afternoon had turned hot, so Gunnar and Arkady buried their rods amongst the sand and rocks of the shoreline, and retreated to the shade of the cliffs. Gunnar had tapped one of the firkins in the cellar, and brought a stoppered earthenware bottle of ale to the beach along with his fishing tackle. He drank it quickly, still smarting from his acrimonious discussion with Gwenn. Just as Arkady predicted, she had refused to leave. Usually he deferred to her, but this time he had argued. She mocked his fears, saying that the island felt no different than it had six months ago.
Gunnar sighed, knowing this time she was wr
