Ciaran knew it was strange, that is father wouldn’t let him do something as simple as start a fire, especially since they were peat cutters and their peat burned well, but he knew his father had become a bit...strange after his mother’s death, and Aoife and Fingula and the other women in the village warned him to let it go, so he did.
Aoife’s creaking voice faded, and hope lunged in Ciaran’s chest - food time!
But someone knocked at the door.
Eoghan, who’d been halfway across the hut, turned and opened the door.
“Can I help you sir...ma’am?”
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