Free The Light-Bearer's Daughter by O.R. Melling

map she carried in her knapsack. So many mountains to climb, valleys to cross, lakes and forests to pass! And she had to avoid populated areas and the paths more commonly used by hill-walkers. Once the alarm went up that she was missing, there would be search parties and rescue teams. She would have to skulk and hide.
    It wasn’t going to be easy.
    Though she had set out bravely, she was already despondent. Hiking alone was no fun. She and Gabe had always gone with their local hill-walking group. Many were amateur naturalists who used magnifying glasses to peer at miniature wildflowers and the lichen on rocks. They would ask her the Irish names of trees and plants as she was the only one fluent in the language. An cuileann . The holly tree. An dair ghaelach . The Irish oak. Méiríní sídhe . Foxglove or fairy-fingers. Méaracán gorm . The same name for both bluebells and harebells. And when they sat down on the hillsides to eat their lunch, everyone shared whatever they had brought—hot tea or cocoa from steaming thermoses, every kind of sandwich, crisps and fruit, sweets and chocolate.
    She began to yearn for company. The vast solitude of the landscape was overwhelming and she soon suffered from lonesomeness and a slow, creeping unease. Now the mountains seemed like sullen giants, brooding over her. She tried not to think of the thing at the waterfall; tried not to wonder if it was out there somewhere. Watching her. Hunting her. She kept looking over her shoulder. Nature was beautiful when you felt safe within it. When you didn’t, it was terrifying.
    She had deliberately taken one of the trails less traveled, crossing the uplands. Even if she was able to convince any adults that she was fine on her own, it would only be a matter of time before they contacted Gabe. She flinched whenever she thought of her father. The state he must be in. She hated to think of him making countless phone calls, rounding up their friends, searching the mountains … going crazy. She had tried to write him a note, but couldn’t think of what to say that would make any sense to him or ease his mind. I’m away with the fairies. They’ve promised me a wish. If I get it, I’ll come back with Mum .
    If I get it …
    And there was no point telling him where she had gone. He would only come after her and ruin any chance of her getting that wish.
    She quickened her pace. Wasn’t she doing this for him as well as for herself? Once she brought back his wife to him, it would make everything worthwhile, even the pain.
    Dana had been walking for several hours when she spotted a vague shape on the path ahead: a humped figure on a stone in the midst of thorny briars. For a moment her heart jumped, and she thought of running away, then she recognized who it was. The old lady from the Hanuman House in Bray. She ran to meet her.
    “Here I am! Like you said!”
    The beady eyes were the same, dark and merry, but the face seemed to have grown more whiskers.
    The old woman smiled and cocked her head.
    “Do you hear it, mo leanbh ? Éist nóiméad .”
    Dana did as she was told and listened a moment. She had grown used to the wind hawing through the mountains, but now she also heard a low booming note.
    “How I have longed to hear that sound,” the old lady said. “The song of the bittern. She was driven from the bogs by hunters and drainage, but she has come back. Not all that is gone is gone forever.”
    Her words were reassuring.
    “Go raibh míle maith agat,” Dana thanked her.
    The whiskery face crinkled with laughter.
    “You have good manners, for a motherless child. Let me guide you on your way. Hurry up this hill as fast as your feet can carry you, with a heart as wild as the hearts of birds, and you will find a splendid surprise. Hind’s feet in high places .”
    Though Dana didn’t really understand, she loved surprises and she loved to run.
    “Thanks again!” she called behind her, as off she raced.
    Dana took the steep track that