Spring spreads its colours across the landscape, painting over the browns and greys of winter. Astarte sits by the lake, gazing at the clouds reflected on the water. Sirius roams around in the grass, casting around to follow the scent of a rabbit. She loves this time, when the morning mist begins to drift away, exposing the beauty of the landscape while still infusing it with mystery.
The swans paddle close together. As she watches, they turn in a leisurely semi-circle, their necks curving as they lower their heads to rest against each other, a heart-shaped space marked out between them. The water glistens slightly like trailing hair, and Astarte is convinced it’s Sinead. Somehow Astarte knows that this is the last time she will see her.
The rustling of the breeze through the first leaves of spring is her answer. Astarte smiles. ‘Goodbye,’ she whispers.
A twig cracks, and she turns. Flynn, his hair still ruffled from sleep, comes to sit behind her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. She leans against him. They look up as the swans take off to fly directly over their heads, powerful wings humming as they soar upwards into the bright morning. In the distance they can see Mairie and Seamus, arm in arm, walking towards them.