They care for her needs, which are few enough… goat’s milk and berries, bread and herbs…fur for the cloak and boots she wears against the cold through the long nights of vigil by the stones.
They keep their distance, coming only to the Guardian.
She speaks to none else who do not seek.
Very different this life from her beginnings in the bright, fire-lit halls of lore and music… but it is life and she serves the Clan of the Raven.
Laying her hand on the great mound she walks through the cairns to the home-place to warn him of their coming. Bending low she enters the house, low roofed and sturdy, lined with stones piled between the circle of uprights, a special burial at its heart, capped with stone.
He had gone back, her Guardian… under cover of night… dangerous work…to bring her their…
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