Around the walls there were several small apertures, where stones had been omitted, too small to be called windows. She noticed that one of them on the west wall was now admitting a thin but brilliant beam of light from the setting sun, the very narrowness of the gap serving to concentrate and focus the ray. Around the walls were panels of rough carvings. She moved towards one and peered closely. It seemed to represent a mother holding up a babe.
Brendan, standing close behind her, traced the lines of the worn carving with his finger so that there could be no mistake.
‘The rays of the setting sun at midwinter fall there,’ he told her, ‘so that at the nadir of darkness there is a promise that the light will return.’
He took a candle from the small stone slab that served as an altar and l
