The hunting call of a hawk is in my ears as I begin dreaming. It screeches again, three times, and I search the sky for it. There! A big one, circling swiftly just overhead. As I watch, fascinated, it goes into its killing dive, falling like a dead stone from on high to skim the water with its talons and rise lightly into the air again with a large salmon snared. Caught for a moment against the sun, wings and claws in full glory, the image of the hawk lingers in my eyes, reminding me of something I cannot quite remember. In my dream, I raise my arm and salute the hawk, whose god-name is Aracos.

"No matter who is at the crannog, they will always need a ferryman." My father's rugged face is suddenly before me, speaking in that rough voice that I still often hear echoing across the waters. He grins and raises his arm too, mirroring my gesture with perfect timing. Then we look at each other and laugh until we both double over, sharing a joke that is not a joke but the key to our survival here on the banks of Lough Mask.

Another screech and my eyes fly open from the dream. I thought my father would be standing there, still watching the hawk, but he is long gone and the sky is empty. The screech was laughter from behind me. I jump to my feet, slightly embarassed to be caught half dreaming. The green-clad lass is returning, along with an older woman who is dancing along beside her and cackling gleefully.

"Ah, you've waited for us! Thank you." A smile from the pretty one while the crone looks me up and down with a bold appraisal unexpected from one of her age.

"Quick to the oars!" she grins, ignoring the hand I have offered to help her into the boat. I glance back to see that the nurse matron and several others are coming down to the dock.

"This is my aunt Saoirse the Golden Warrior," says the younger woman proudly as she, too, hurries onto the boat without assistance. "And I am called Moss. Please, can we hurry?" I spy a flash of silver in her fingers which hastens me to shove the boat briskly off and away.

I put my strong back and arms to their best work. "Soon we'll catch the current that flows hereabouts," I assure the two, if a wee bit breathlessly, meanwhile thinking to myself, "Moss! Moss, what a beautiful name and so befitting..."