Jenny’s eyes combed the rocky landscape of the Cliffs of Moher.  She panted helplessly.  The pounding waves, louder than ever before, echoed her heartbeat in her eardrums.  The smell of salt, exacerbated by the high winds, stung her nose.

“Jenny?”

She heard her name from the left, and spun around to see Elsie, her white gown billowing in the wind, her gray eyes curious and frowning.  “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—what are you doing here?”

“Writing.  The Hag of Beara poem.  I wanted to finish it.”

Oh.  It was then that Jenny became aware of the quill in Elsie’s hand, the parchment scattered around her feet.  She felt so stupid.  Obviously, Elsie wasn’t planning on jumping.  She would hardly have told her aunt where she was going if she was going to do that.  Jenny then became aware of another obvious thing, that she had managed to forget about while she ran.

“Elsie—there’s a storm coming—we can’t be here.”  Her words were punctuated by a loud clap of thunder, ripping through the sky.

Elsie blinked, as if the world around her was only now becoming visible.  Like a flash, she began gathering her papers, clearly prizing them over her own wellbeing.  Seeing that there was no point in deterring her, Jenny bent down to help. 

A bolt of lightning pierced through the sky.  Elsie yelped, causing Jenny to stumble.  The rain began falling hard, shooting to the ground like bullets.  The sky seemed to be slashing itself open.

“Will we be able to get home in this?”  Elsie had to shout to be heard, even though Jenny was standing right beside her.  The wind blew mercilessly.

Jenny had seen many awful storms, but always from behind her home’s walls.  She had never been foolish enough to get caught in the middle of one, and had never seen one become so aggressive, so fast.  All that she wanted was to be back at home, safe and warm by the fire.  She was going to suggest that they take their chances—but then the hail started.

There was a cave nearby, she only just managed to remember, as she placed her hands above her head.  Hard clumps of ice pummeled the ground.  “There!” Jenny shouted, her eyes lighting upon an arching structure of sturdy gray rocks.  It was hard to see through the rain, so she had to point, and risk her head getting hit.  “Until the storm ends!”

Elsie nodded.  Holding her papers tight to her chest, she led the way to the cave, Jenny close behind her.  Another roll of thunder, another flash of lightning, nearly made Jenny trip and fall.  But she managed to stay on her feet until they reached the relative safety of the cave.  Then, she sank down, tearing her dress and skinning her knees in the process.  It didn’t matter.  There wasn’t enough room in the cave to stand even if she had wanted to.  Her feet were numb on the cold rock floor.

Elsie’s eyes were large and round in the gray half-light, peering at her with concern.  Her normally curly hair was plastered wet against her head.  “Are you okay?”

Jenny nodded, not sure if that was true or not.  She knew that she should have been cross with Elsie; she was the reason that they were stuck out here—why did she even have to come out here in the first place—but she was so glad to see her alive, and speaking to her again, that her anger could do no more than simmer for now.  Survival was the only thing she had time or energy for anyway.

As afraid as Jenny was, Elsie looked even more terrified.  She wished that she knew how to make everything better.  But could anyone do that, ever?  No matter what the problem was, there would always be more of them.  All Jenny could do was reach over, one hand still holding half of Elsie’s slightly soggy, probably hopelessly smeared pages.  She held her cousin’s shaking hand, as the world around them fell apart, was beaten down, was reshaped and remade.  Mama and Papa will be so worried, Jenny thought, and that was the last thing she reflected upon before allowing her mind to go blank, holding only that which was visible and present.

The sky was foreign, like something out of an old story whispered by candlelight, gray-green and sickly.  It blended with the sea below, swirling and tumultuous.

And as lightning scarred the sky, and thunder sounded all around, and rain pelted the earth, something impossible happened.  For less than an instant, the sun turned blood red, as if it had been stabbed and was bleeding out.  Against the dark gray sky, it looked like the angry eye of God.

Jenny gasped as her eyes watered from the crimson light.  She wished she had a free hand to make the sign of the cross.  But she wouldn’t dare let go of Elsie or her poems.  Elsie, who was not Catholic, could only shudder and choke out, “I don’t want to die.”

And despite the chaos, despite the shrieking wind rending limbs from trees, despite the hail splintering upon the earth, Jenny heard her cousin.  She sobbed with a smile on her face.