Taking his chance, Fintan bolted while distracting noises overtook the ones he couldn't avoid making. He ran until the fire was just a distant memory, and all the things he had been introduced to. Match. Shoe. Tent. That thing that buzzed and gave off a painful white-blue light. He didn't like that thing very much. Finding his bag abandoned where he'd left it, Fintan was glad to see most of his things were still inside. Grasping it tightly in his hand, Fintan hurried home, slipping into his cottage and closed the door tightly. Of course it wouldn't stop anyone that wanted in. His windows had no glass. Setting the bag beside the door, Fintan dragged himself up the stairs to the loft. He was so tired suddenly. Everything had compiled as soon as he found himself in familiar territory. Crawling onto his bed, he rubbed his ears against the soft woolen covers and closed his heavy eyelids.

Fintan's ears twitched in sleep, and he shook his head hard, nearly waking himself up. He kept dreaming about strange things, mostly what he was shown before he managed to get back home. Shoes... Tent... Lantern... The clothes that didn't look like his at all. He twisted and suddenly, jolted awake when he hit the floor. Moaning, Fin pushed himself up and rubbed his head, getting to his feet and rubbing his hands through his long hair. Staring for a moment at his bed, Fin shook his head. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now. He trudged downstairs, going into his kitchen and digging through a hanging bag to find a pear. From across the cottage he stared out into the night through the glassless window. What was that human up to? He could barely see the light of the dying fire.