On the mark of the first year Mavourneen had a dream similar yet different from the rest. It was there in the very haven of the faeries, where she found herself. Where grand halls were hewn into the mountains, where the wild flowers grasped to all the earth in their reach, where the deer and the bear lay in the other's company. It was the land of wild things but not as we think it. She dreamt of Tír na nÓg, the other-world  and refuge of the fae. There the salmon and seal are kings of the waters, the corvids are the magistrate of the skies, and the beasts of the land are the court of the forests. 

She dreamed of walking through the fae's grand gathering hall, following the sight of water that fell from a ceiling of crystal lights. Fighting through crowds of kingly folk, searching for the face of her love. There, at the base of the cavern's waterfall, was a throne wrought of gold wire like the branches of a barren tree. Cradled in its arms Eoghan slept silent as death itself.

"Eoghan!" Mavourneen cried, the gathering in the room now seeming sombre.

He stirred, looking up with a head crowned with daisies. As he woke the congregation faded, leaving darkness in their wake. 

Eoghan stood as smoke fogged the room, hanging low against the floor. "A chroí," he said, in a low voice. He smiled and reached out his hand to her.

In awe Mavourneen stared back at him, taking his hand, and surrendering to a moving sea of footsteps. They swayed back and forth, dancing like a rolling tide. It was quiet but each was content in the other’s silence. They danced for what seemed hours in the dark hall until at last Mavourneen woke from her dream. 

She hardly moved from her bed that morning, sitting there and wishing she could have said more, wishing she could have lingered, wishing she could have kissed his cheek.