The Morrigu

Kerridwen

Kerridwen smiled at the lush forest, grateful for the peace so evident around her. In the distance, she heard the mingling laughs of a man and a woman and knew to turn back home. Her parents, still so obviously in love after twenty years, valued what little privacy the surrounding trees afforded. And with their two daughters grown, Morgana and Conall felt little guilt in leaving their girls to their own devices.

Neither did Kerridwen mind. With no other family to help them, the Macha witch and her husband took many of the chores associated with country life upon themselves.

They deserved their own time.

With one last glance towards the wood, Kerridwen picked up her herb basket and started for their shared cottage. She wondered, for a moment, where Maeve might have gone.

The thought was quickly discarded, though. Her errant sister had no doubt gone to the nearest village. Again.

Kerridwen sighed. She loved her simple life and could not fathom the source of Maeve’s discontent.

Perhaps it is her beauty, the grey-eyed witch mused. Her golden hair and bright green eyes would make many a better woman feel entitled to a life of travel and romance.

She did not have to wait long, though, to discover where her sister had gone. Her thoughts seemed always to summon the girl.

Kerridwen’s younger sister came walking down the path.

“Yes Maeve?” Kerridwen greeted.

The blonde beauty never sought her family without a purpose—usually selfish.

Maeve paused for a moment and looked her sister over, sneering derisively. “You are covered in dirt.”

Kerridwen brushed past her.

“Aside from the obvious fact that you are always begrimed,” –Maeve followed, keeping a careful distance so as not to soil her dress—“why did you feel the need to roll around on the ground today?”

A slender brow rose above an incredulous grey eye.

“Mother asked me to collect a few herbs,” Kerridwen addressed her sister’s complaint, voice level, “as you seemed unavailable.”

Maeve ignored the reprimand. She looked around. “Where is mother?” the girl asked. “I have something to tell her.”

Kerridwen motioned vaguely behind her, deliberately being unspecific. “She and father went further into the forest.”

A frown passed across Maeve’s countenance, marring her beauty. “Well, I suppose I shall tell her soon enough.”

Suddenly, a sly glint came into her eye and she flitted in front of Kerridwen. “Would you like to hear?”

“Hear what?” Kerridwen asked, exasperated. Maeve had stopped to block the path.

“My news, of course,” Maeve snapped back, growing impatient.

“I…” Kerridwen trailed off, holding back her retort. She shook her head. “No.”

“I met the most interesting witches.” Maeve folded her arms across her chest, continuing haughtily, “And they seemed to find me equally as interesting.”

A group of witches? So close? Kerridwen’s heartbeat quickened in alarm.

Few witch clans wandered the world so freely, and even fewer came into the forest.

None ever arrived with honest intent.

“What clan were these people from, Maeve?”

The girl laughed at the worry creasing Kerridwen’s brow. “They told me they hail from a great people and inquired—in turn—about our heritage.” She paused, lifting her chin in defiance. “I told them.”