Avelrow Publishing
by Nessa Calder
Rain stitched the evening into something close and salt-tanged, and Sive Ní Chathasaigh stood with her back to the chain-link, watching cones go down in perfect rows. Her girls trotted out in twos and threes, chatter bouncing; hurleys tapped like impatient metronomes against shins. The floodlights kept their own weather—moths, tiny halos, a hard white sheen on wet grass.
Public sample through Chapter 2
About the book
Rain stitched the evening into something close and salt-tanged, and Sive Ní Chathasaigh stood with her back to the chain-link, watching cones go down in perfect rows. Her girls trotted out in twos and threes, chatter bouncing; hurleys tapped like impatient metronomes against shins. The floodlights kept their own weather—moths, tiny halos, a hard white sheen on wet grass.
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