The Sun Sídhe

5 - Family Farewells

Aeden despised human homes.

This one was, as far as he could tell, as cramped as any other: one room, a fire that filled the air with suffocating heat and smoke, clutter everywhere. In other words, no space. Within the first few minutes, he'd begun to think wistfully of the rolling fields outside. After finishing his conversation with Maeve, he lost patience and threw open the door. He longed to stretch his legs and run; instead, he settled for clinging to the doorframe as Maeve and the other two humans bustled about grabbing things. A gentle breeze rolled across the land, sending ripples through the grass. He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply. The air smelled of sea, wet soil, and cow manure. While not pleasant, the last was hardly enough to spoil his enjoyment of the weather.

If he looked closely, he could see one of the humans Maeve called family—Conal, or something—lingering beside a low stone wall some distance away. He was looking out across the field, where eleven or so cattle were grazing, but he continually turned to glance back at the house. As he did so for the sixth time within the past minute, Aeden lifted a hand in a wave. The young man flinched and swung back to face the cows.

As it turned out, he didn't need to. The human woman—the one Maeve called her mother—appeared in the doorway beside Aeden. She had a very imposing demeanour, for a human; her face was all sharp angles and self-assurance. Her blue eyes swept the grassy land before focusing on her son. "Conor!" she hollered. "Come here!"

Conor. Right. That was his name. Aeden shifted to allow some space in the doorway as the blond-haired man leapt away from the wall, sparing one last glance at the cattle before scampering towards the house.

"What's happened?" he asked, drawing up short before the door. Like his brother, Conor was tall: Aeden was forced to tilt his head back. Nervousness cracked through the man's movements, but there was a sort of worry that had settled into his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to ask a second question, but closed it after glancing at Aeden.

Maeve's mother strode back into the house before explaining. Conor trailed along behind her, keeping a good amount of space between himself and Aeden. It was as if he thought that drawing too near or making eye contact would be offensive in some way. Aeden chuckled to himself, turning in the doorway to watch them but keeping the door propped open with one foot to feel the wind at his back.

"Ronan and Maeve are leaving," the older woman said. She plucked a small bag from the mantle of the fireplace and handed it to Ronan.

Conor folded his arms, chewing on his lip. He didn't seem very surprised; perhaps he'd been expecting as much. Aeden suspected that the man was sharper than his timid manner implied. "How long will you be gone?" he asked quietly, turning to Maeve.

She didn't look up as she cinched a knapsack closed with a rope. Several strands of reddish-brown hair had escaped her braid, hanging at an awkward angle before her eyes. She shoved them back with a freckled hand, lips pursed. "I don't know."

It wasn't hard to see the worry that creased Conor's brow. He glanced at their mother. "You will be careful?" A strained note lingered beneath the words. "I know I can't stop you, but..."

Maeve snorted. "Who do you think I am? Of course we will." She hoisted the knapsack over one shoulder and limped towards Conor.

Aeden watched her face closely, taking note of how her jaw clenched as she moved. He hadn't seen Niamh stab her, but he'd seen the wound. Maeve's leg wasn't just pierced, but torn open on one side. Aeden had received his fair share of wounds, but this was impressive even to him. She was in pain, no doubt, and a lot of it.

Yet she'd killed Niamh, and still walked. She was strong. Determined. And she seemed honest, which was unusual. Aeden tapped his bare foot against the floor, feeling the packed soil shift beneath his toes. She'd be useful.