"My left," Stella says — the same side as the bruising on her face, which should make sense, if a horrific kind of sense since it implies the extent of her injuries. Being compared to the weight of a pile of wet sheets might normally evoke some kind of sarcastic rejoinder, even though it's an accurate metaphor as far as it goes, but she doesn't have much energy for that at the moment.

She does not really have much energy for anything, focusing all of what she has on getting herself out of the fountain, bracing herself with her one hand on Kate's shoulder and using the other to push herself up. Between the two of them she's out of the fountain and on her feet soon enough, but the effort has winded her a little. It shouldn't; Stella used to swim on a daily basis before this place, and she's still in fairly decent condition for a woman who doesn't manage that sort of daily exercise anymore, but the pain of her bruises has sapped a bit of her strength.

Stella manages to wring most of the water out of her hair, considers sneaking back to her house for a fresh change of clothing, although a towel and a little time in front of the fire in the inn will probably dry her out just as well. It helps her, to think about these normal things.

"How long was I gone?" She knows exactly how long she was back in Belfast — a little more than a fortnight — but she can't assume the same length of time has passed in the village.