Bara Cailín 4: 18 ‘The hint of a heard thing’

And then Inteachán heard it.

Faint at first.

The hint of a heard thing.

But there all the same.

Perhaps it was nothing, she thought to herself. The echo of my voice bouncing off of some distant wall. But it wasn’t that. It was something else. Definitely something. She heard it again. Closer now. More distinct. Inteachán stood still and listened hard. She heard it again. Them. A succession of noises now. Gentle. Faint. Distant. Delicate but definite. Across the blur of the distance Inteachán now knew that the sound was a plop followed by a small splash.

Plop. Splash. Again.

Plop. Splash.

And again.

Plop. Splash.

Multiplied one hundred fold.

One thousand.

Suddenly countless.

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