The set up, such as it was, is done— but a final touch is required. Herian walks up behind Saoirse, and gently touched her shoulder.

“Sinn-seanmhair,” yes, she just called her great grandmother, what of it? “Have you a moment to spare?”

In the none-shoulder dwelling hand there is a parcel, only loosely wrapped in simple, coarse paper. Nothing fine, unfortunately.