“It's green and the mountains in the distance are capped with snow. There are places that have no electric, or need for it. Thepeople there live as they have for hundreds of years. On the outer islands, people still speak the old language and tell stories about the water horses.” At her sudden change of expression, he explained. “Legends about shape-shifters that live in the fairy pools and lochs.”
She laughed then. “Do you believe in water horses?”
“Ach, well when you look deep into one of the pools with the light moving across the surface, there are things that move about and tease you.” He liked the sound of her laughter.
“But it's the smell of the land.” He angled a look at her through the shaft of moonlight to see if she was still laughing at him. “It's the smell of wild things and the earth, and ancient places after the rain, that stays with you like a memory. And then there are the fairy glens.”
“Fairy glens?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Where it's said the ancient ones come from the other world on Samhuinn, and move among the living for just a little while before returning to the spirit world.”
She laughed again. She was usually so serious, too serious for one so young. He took several more pictures.
“You are as comfortable with the weapon as you are with the camera,” she commented.
“Bird hunting with my grandfather, a long time ago,” he replied. “He often took me with him.” It was a good memory.
“What about your family?” he asked, and wondered what she would tell him.
She had never shared anything about herself, in the way that conversations often turned to home and family. She kept everything to herself, tucked away, hidden.
“I had two brothers and a sister. My father and brothers joined the Resistance in the beginning, the early days when they knew it was only a matter of time before the Germans came. They were captured.” Her voice had gone quiet.
“I was told they were executed. That is when I joined the Resistance.”
“And you've been with them ever since.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I do it for my father and brothers, for those who cannot fight for themselves. I will not stop until the Germans are gone, you see?”
There was an edge in her voice then, grim determination along with the anger.
“What about your mother and sister?”
“They are safe, I pray. The last I knew, they lived with my uncle on his farm.”
“What will you do after the war?” he asked. She didn't reply for a long time, and he thought she might not.
“I haven't thought of it. For so long, there has only been today with no promise of tomorrow.”
He felt her looking at him then. “Will you go home to your fairy glens?” she asked.
He smiled at the way she said it, not really believing it, yet perhaps needing to.
“I might work for the newspaper again.” But human-interest photographs hadn't been all that exciting.
“Will you continue to take your photographs?”
He thought about that, about the shots he'd taken since the landing, images caught in a split second, a breath taken between living and dying.
“It is important,” she answered for him, laying a hand on his arm. She stood to leave.
“Take your pictures, so that people do not forget.”
They continued the push toward St. Malo. The heavier fighting, they were told, would come in the next two days as they reached the port city. The Germans were heavily fortified at St. Malo. They weren't about to give up the strategic seaport without a long and bloody fight.
Micheleine returned unexpectedly as they traversed the French countryside, and was immediately taken to the Allied commander.
“There's a bit of conversation going on there,” Callish said as they were ordered to hold their position. She was in animated conversation with the commander of the American unit, along with a man who wore the robes of a monk.
