“Will you take Leathfhear?” The call comes from someone and is taken up by others, a brief clamouring for Tara to acknowledge me that I do not know whether to feel embarrassed or hopeful about. I watch her. She comes to stand in front of me. Examines me. Looks into my eyes for a long few seconds. “No,” she says loudly. My heart drops and I almost open my mouth to protest, but this is her decision. She is our leader and if I have still not convinced her, then I must accept it now. I keep holding her gaze. “No,” she repeats. “But I will take Deaglán.”
