In a tiny cottage on the headland of a storm-ravaged island, Fionn Boyle was smiling in his sleep. He was dreaming of a flying horse, his fingers curled inside his snow-white mane as they dipped and tumbled through purple clouds that glittered around the edges.
Tomorrow, he would be twelve years old.
The island watched over its new charge, contented with its decision. Though he was the youngest Storm Keeper in Arranmore history, he would have the hardest job of all of them. It would take every drop of sea in his veins and every ounce of courage in his heart, but he would give it willingly. He was his father’s son. The island knew this well. It had broken many rules to get him here – almost all of them, in fact – but the time for fairness was over. There would be no surprises when the darkness returned.
For now though, the island let the boy sleep, dulling the wind and silencing the seagulls so that he might find peace in the safety of his dreams. For a little while at least.