“Are you listening to me?” Finn asked.

  Donal’s face dropped out of his right hand. It would have landed in his porridge had its perch been lower. His brother, Finn, paced around the open hearth in the middle of their cottage.

  Finn was nearly his father’s double. It was the reason Donal found his brother’s lectures so irksome. He stood the same height, his face elongated into the same oblong shape. His hair was the same shade of auburn and it, too, waved in whichever direction the pillow willed it. Finn did everything but puff out his chest and stick a condescending finger in the air to fake his father’s natural gravitas.

  Finn flung two open and upward palms toward his brother. “This is what I’m talking about!”

  “I’m sorry, Finn,” Donal said. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “And why wouldn’t you be? You just rolled out of bed—only four hours after I did.”

  “That’s not fair! I was kept up all night by—”

  “—Nightmares,” Finn said. “I heard. Like the night before. Like I will tonight, probably.”

  Donal jumped to his feet and jabbed an index finger at his brother. “Oi! Too far.”

  “You’re right,” Finn said. He raised a hand, stepped backward and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m simply trying to tell you that things are bad this year. Worse than the first two years. This farm is too much for one man in good times, but now? I badly need your help.”

  “You already have my help,” Donal said. “I help all the time!” His voice dropped to a mutter. “Not that you’d ever notice or thank me.”

  Finn halted his pacing and faced Donal. “Thank you? For what? I cannot even get you to milk the cow or collect seaweed without either begging or yelling. Thank you? For climbing out of bed in the middle of the day and doing two hours of shoddy work?”

  “Do you think I like waking up in that state?” Donal asked. “Dya’think I want to see those things every night? Or even during the day?”

  Finn rested his hands on his hips and scoffed at the ceiling. “And now he’s napping during chores.”

  “I am not napping during chores!” Donal said. “Sometimes they’re as plain as you standing right there as I do ‘em.”

  This wasn’t how Donal planned to tell Finn about his waking nightmares, but he was cornered.

  “I don’t understand,” said Finn. “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing,” Donal said.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  “Tell me. Are they something like visions?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “Does it happen a lot?” Finn asked. “During the day, I mean.”

  “Couple times, lately,” Donal said. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

  Finn’s brown eyes softened. “I want to understand,” he said. “To help if I can.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “We could talk to Murrough,” Finn said. “He might know what—”

  “Finn! Enough.” Donal slumped into his seat. His eyes drifted to the white clover outside the window while he gathered the courage to look back towards his brother.

  “You’re not ready to talk,” Finn said. “I get that. You need to mind, though, that you’re not the only one who lost your mam and da. I still have to go out there to sow and harvest. To milk and shear. To cook. To gather, haul and sell. I don’t get to tell the MacSweeneys each month, ‘Sorry for not getting you your money. I’m sad and I have terrible dreams!’”

  Finn raised a hand at the sight of his brother’s tightening shoulders. “I know that’s not what you said but that’s what it will sound like, fair or not. After three years, we’re testing their patience as is.”

  “Here, I know all about what you do,” Donal said.

  His face was hot and his mind spun. At this point he only cared about landing as many body blows as would make him feel better.

  “You’re not bashful about it. Why are you doing all of that, though? You didn’t dream of being some dryshite farmer. Why don’t you leave town and do your fancy learning and praying already? You’re not doing this for me, are you? Lord knows I didn’t ask you to stay here!”

  “And I’m not asking,” Finn said, his tone sharp. “I’m telling you. You’ve got work to do today. I’m going to town to sell what little we can.”

  Finn turned on his heel and walked out the door, slamming it shut.

  “Not a chance, hai?” Donal yelled at the door.

  Donal glowered at his food, waiting for his brother to get in the last word from the outside. It never came. He had nothing to do but take out his feelings on his breakfast.

  Finn loaded a bag of oats, two bags of barley and two wheels of cheese onto his family’s pull cart. He might not reach the markets in the Crossroads and be back by sunset, but he could make it to Ards Beg or Gortahork.

  The door opened over his shoulder and Donal stepped into the yard. The blood had drained from his face, leaving behind his usual pale complexion framed by black hair that draped to either side.

  The fire behind Donal’s brown eyes had cooled and his angled jaw hung lax once more. He walked in minced steps toward his brother. Finn wasn’t keen on another fight, however, and jumped at the chance to steer their next conversation.

  “Siobhan is coming this afternoon,” he said. “I’ve got a few more bags and some cheese to give her, hopefully it will make up for the money that we’re missing.”

  “Could you not wait a little longer and give it to her yourself?” Donal asked.

  “You will do it and any other jobs that need doing, and that’s that,” Finn said in an even tone. “If you do not do all of these things, you’ll make your own meals until Murrough visits.”

  Donal’s brows furrowed and his head cocked to the side.

  Finn closed his eyes and sighed. “That is two full days of meals,” he said.

  He reached for the cart but pulled his hands back and looked over at his younger brother. “Donal, I’m sorry for giving out to you earlier. I was frustrated. This thing eating you at night, I know you don’t want it. But I really do need your help and the less we fight about it, the better, in my eyes. Let’s try to get through this week and then see to these nightmares—both night and day.”

  Donal’s face pinched as he looked down to his shoes. His eyes ascended toward his brother once more, his brows raised.

  Finn knew that expression well. “Apology accepted,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.” He flashed a half-hearted smile and pulled the cart away from the house.