Relief washed through me. This one, shorter and slighter than the other, was clad in the brown habit and sandals of a monastic brother. They halted four paces away from me, looking mildly surprised. The deepening dusk and the rising mist rendered both their faces ghostly pale, and the monk was so thin his features seemed almost skeletal, but his smile was warm.

“Well, well,” he observed. “The mist has conjured a lovely lady from an ancient tale, my friend. We must be on our best manners or she’ll set a nasty spell on us, I fear.”

The red-cloaked man made an elegant bow.“My friend has a penchant for weak jests,” he said. He did not smile—his face was a somber one, thin-lipped, sunken-eyed—but his manner was courteous.“We see few travelers on this path. Are you headed for the settlement?”

“Whistling Tor? Yes. I was hoping to find shelter for the night.”

They exchanged a glance.

“Easy to lose yourself when the mist comes down,” the monk said. “The settlement’s on our way, more or less. If you permit, we’ll walk with you and make sure you get there safely.”

“Thank you. My name is Caitrin, daughter of Berach.”

“Rioghan,” said the tall man in the crimson cloak. “My companion is Eichri. Let me carry that box for you.”

“No!” Nobody was getting his hands on my writing materials. “No, thank you,” I added, realizing how sharp I had sounded. “I can manage.”

We walked on. “Do you live somewhere locally?” I asked the two men.

“Close at hand,” Rioghan said. “But not in the settlement. When you get there, ask for Tomas. He’s the innkeeper.”

I nodded, wondering if four coppers would be enough to buy me a bed for the night. I waited for them to ask me why a young woman was out wandering alone so late in the day, but neither of them said a thing more, though each glanced at me from time to time as we walked on.