Ten miles south, a man named Fionn is returning to the home he had to leave three months ago. He rubs the sores on his wrists from the chains that kept him shackled during three long months of imprisonment for something he did not do, a crime he did not commit. The sores are red and raw where the skin has been rubbed from his wrists.
He is thinking of his darling Niamh. Would she be waiting for him still? He does not deserve it - she needs her own life.
Lights ahead show Fionn that he is on the right track. The city is in sight; soon he will be home. He wonders whether Niamh will have dinner ready. But of course she will not - he was not expected to be released for another year yet.
Fionn sighs. What has Niamh been doing, these past months?