“You’re chasing ghosts,” her grandson Kellan said, not unkindly. He was a practical man, a fisher of the new coast. “The old well is dry. The kirk’s bell is at the bottom of the bay. Let them rest.”
But it sighed.
The villagers thought she was addled. But they humored her because she still wove the best fishing nets in the county. imceaglaer
But the silence hummed . It felt like a held breath. Like the place itself was waiting to be remembered. “You’re chasing ghosts,” her grandson Kellan said, not
He rowed back to Mareg, soaked and pale. “I heard it,” he whispered. “The… imceaglaer.” “You’re chasing ghosts