The Savage

Part 2: Chapter Ten: Llewellyn

In Daear spring would've already arrived with it's warm winds and wet earth, but here in Duthaich, hundreds of miles north of Mynyth, the valley was still held in winter's grasp. A cold wind still blew even when the sun melted bare patches into the snow.

Llewellyn fiddled with the his staff as he sat in the sun on a rock watching the grazing sheep. He was expected to participate in everyday chores but wasn't entrusted with much. Watching over the sheep was a job for children and it annoyed him that this was all he was given. Cillian stood beside carving a new gemshorn, running him through the Duthaichi vowels again. Llewellyn's Duthaichi was improving thanks to the boy.

The village was a hum of extra activity that day. A goat had been slaughtered and rabbit pies had been made. An extravagance for the people that kept to a strict diet of hardy stews. Even somber Shae was in a state of excitement.

Cillian blew into his instrument listening to its sound then continued to carve at it. "Are you excited?" he asked Llewellyn in Duthaichi.

"For what?" Llewellyn replied, watching Shae and Judoc erect a tall peeked tent near the main round house.

"For Alban Eilir?" Cillian answered as if it was obvious.

Llewellyn shook his head, "I don't know what that is."

"You know. When the Mathair changes."

Llewellyn shook his head again, "Sorry."

Cillian sighed, "the Mathair. The Crone?"

"You mean the old woman?"

"Well, she's not an old lady. She's a Mathair and right now she is the Crone. Tonight she'll change into the Maiden."

"Magic?" Llewellyn's interest peeking.

Cillian nodded with a smile as he blew into the gemshorn again. "Mathairs are magic. And there's music, dancing and food."

Llewellyn pondered what types of magic the Mathair could preform. She looked like she would keel over any day as the Crone.

"Do they dance during the Alban Eilir in Daear?" Cillian asked.

"We dance, but we don't have the Alban Eilir." Llewellyn replied.

"What do you have instead?"

"We celebrate the Nameless god on his day of reign at the turn of the year."

"Cillian!" Shae said sharply.

Llewellyn and the boy jumped and turned as he strode up. "Go help your father with the tent." Without a word the boy ran off in his father's direction leaving Llewellyn with scowling Shae.

"He doesn't need to hear about your heathen god." Shae snapped.

"I wasn't doing any harm." Llewellyn objected with a frown.

"Just keep it to yourself while you're here." Shae said turning to the sheep. Walking amongst the docile animals he picked a new white lamb that had been born earlier that day and carried it off towards the tent without another word to Llewellyn.

Settling back against the rock, Llewellyn did a quick count of the sheep to ensure they were all still there. Not that he could follow if one wandered off into the wood. Even now in the day light he could feel the strange yellow eyes of the Pookah watching him from the shadows amongst the trees. Not a day went by that he didn't see one come dusk; the dark made them braver. An ever present reminder that he was trapped there. Brenn hadn't given any signs that she would leave him, but he still feared it. He knew that she was itching to find this Ronan person and meet with the clans.