Ferries had been running non-stop for 36 hours to get the crowds to the Tuning.
With its history of pilgrimage and servitude, the country’s shabby infrastructure was built to just manage and no more.
As befits, Mac was a terrible traveller and the coach journey had been bad enough before they even got down to the quay.
Inteachán slept for the most of the way. She wasn’t tired exactly; it was something else. Something deep within her had slightly shifted. Or been shifted for her.
Like one shoe too tight one time.
But not the other.