Brendan feels betrayed by what happened so once he's healed finds a bedsit room off Westheimer and moves there in the dead of night, to get away from his Uncle. He tells no one where he's going. It becomes almost idyllic, for him, until his sister comes to Houston, from Toronto, and he returns to see her.
I have three chapters of APoS left to summarize, then can go back through the book to make sure everything is consistent. Brendan's brother, Rhuari, is studying Gaelic and Brendan has introduced him to one of the people at the house he went to live in -- Eldon, who is a maven of languages. He's tall and thin and awkward, otherwise, but in this Brendan sees he's done right by them both.
In one of his letters to Eldon, Rhuari includes this Gaelic poem by an anonymous monk in the 9th Century:
Messe ocus Pangur Bán, · cechtar nathar fria saindan bíth a menmasam fri seilgg · mu menma céin im saincheirdd.
Caraimse fos ferr cach clú · oc mu lebran leir ingnu ni foirmtech frimm Pangur Bán · caraid cesin a maccdán.
Orubiam scél cen scís · innar tegdais ar noendís taithiunn dichrichide clius · ni fristarddam arnáthius.
Gnáth huaraib ar gressaib gal · glenaid luch inna línsam os mé dufuit im lín chéin · dliged ndoraid cu ndronchéill.
Fuachaidsem fri frega fál · a rosc anglése comlán fuachimm chein fri fegi fis · mu rosc reil cesu imdis.
Faelidsem cu ndene dul · hinglen luch inna gerchrub hi tucu cheist ndoraid ndil · os me chene am faelid.
Cia beimmi amin nach ré, · ni derban cách a chele maith la cechtar nár a dán, · subaigthius a óenurán.
He fesin as choimsid dáu · in muid dungní cach oenláu du thabairt doraid du glé · for mu mud cein am messe.
Translation:
I and Pangur Bán, each of us two at his special art: his mind is at hunting (mice), my own mind is in my special craft.
I love to rest—better than any fame—at my booklet with diligent science: not envious of me is Pangur Bán: he himself loves his childish art.
When we are—tale without tedium—in our house, we two alone, we have—unlimited (is) feat-sport—something to which to apply our acuteness.
It is customary at times by feats of valour, that a mouse sticks in his net, and for me there falls into my net a difficult dictum with hard meaning.
His eye, this glancing full one, he points against the wall-fence: I myself against the keenness of science point my clear eye, though it is very feeble.
He is joyous with speedy going where a mouse sticks in his sharp claw: I too am joyous, where I understand a difficult dear question.
Though we are thus always, neither hinders the other: each of us two likes his art, amuses himself alone.
He himself is master of the work which he does every day: while I am at my own work, to bring difficulty to clearness.
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