The Banshee’s Lament

Rain hit the cliff road like thrown stones. Maeve kept her hood low and walked fast, boots slipping on wet rock, salt in her mouth and cold under her skin.

The village edge lay behind her, all dark roofs and lanterns that looked too weak for the storm. Ahead, the storm road curved toward the sea cliffs, where the wind screamed through broken stone.

She told herself not to look up at the sky. She told herself the visions would stay quiet if she kept moving.