Inteachán tried to figure out what had happened.

Clearly she had fallen down the shaft and landed in Tibradden Lough. How she had managed to be washed ashore she couldn’t imagine but Inteachán wasn’t the sort to focus on anything but what she needed to do next. She was cold. She was wet. She was alone. Inteachán knew she needed to a make a fire in order to survive. She pulled her rucksack off of her shoulders and reached inside.

The metal tinderbox had been a permanent fixture on the mantelpiece for as long as Inteachán could remember. At the time she thought nothing of it but clearly there was a reason why she put it in her rucksack for the family camping trip.

And had kept it there ever since.