It tugged softly at her but it was growing in strength. She stood steadily on the lighthouse gallery, her body at some distance from the railing. But her hands around it were nervous, slick with sweat. Over the ocean, she could make out Iona, small and flat, and just beyond it Mull, the dark brown of the burgh jutting into the sky. It made her think of Daniel, their recent encounter, and her despondency intensified. She shifted her gaze. But the islands lying further afield had already disappeared from view. The forecast was for rain, and dense, low cloud was already moving in. She sighed. Before long she would have to retreat inside. Or that is what the small voice inside her said. The other, louder voice told her to stay where she was, even if the wind grew strong and dangerous and threatened to blow her off the gallery. She heard that voice more insistently now, even though she tried to suppress it, to sedate it into nonexistence. But it would not be silenced. From time to time, she thought she felt the tower shift, move sideways in the wind.
