Gwynne

He ran in slow motion, green cloak spread out behind him like wings. The normally cheerful valley had taken on an ominous cast as the sun dipped lower behind the hills. "Run, Hwyll!" her words stretched in her ears as if hearing them through a river of treacle. Even then, she knew. The certainty of it felt like a blow to her solar plexus. He was too slow. Hwyll, who loved nothing more than to hike the hills with her, race across the meadows and leas like a young bull in spring, was slowly falling beneath a vile black cloud intent on sucking the life from him.

"Hwyll!" She screamed his name, uncaring that she would draw the attention of the leeches to herself. Despair and helplessness flooded in her until she snapped. Her spirit burnt through her.

"NO!" Rage, denial, grief and thorns of determination exploded through her. Blinding pain ripped her head apart spilling the white hot light of a small sun across the valley floor. Her vision cleared long enough for her to see four vaguely human figures impaled upon a wall of thorns. They hung limp and helpless as the thorn wall was slowly consumed by flames.

Gwynne woke with a start. The screams from her nightmare still echoed in her hearing, underscored by the faint sounds of thunder. She could feel the sounds in the small earthen chamber more readily than she could hear them, and for a wild minute wished that she was outside so that the rain would wash the sweat from her body. "Just a nightmare," she whispered to herself. It was always the same dream and she could never rouse herself before Hwyll... she stopped thinking. This was why she hated sleeping at night so close to the leeches. She had hoped that the presence of the swift, deep river between the keep and herself would prove a strong enough barrier. It would have been if she wasn't so exhausted.

Before the door opened and the faint glow of a tallow lamp revealed her visitor, Gwynne could smell the fresh air from the cellar door opening. Well, fresh as tavern air could be, but still considerably more fresh than the sweat-damp air of this hiding hole. Quickly she wiped her palms and brow with the coarse homespun bed sheets. She whispered a prayer of gratitude to the hands that had spun and woven this small touch of comfort.

"I could feel your upset," was all the greeting the gruff voice of the tavern keeper gave.

She didn't know his name nor did she care to ask. It ensured their safety if no names, even false ones, were shared. None were even needed, for they both bore marks of assurance on their skin. Gwynne's eyes flicked briefly to the man's. No ink was used, but the blade had cut deeply and skilfully when it crafted the stylised arrowhead of their society and made it seem the marks of a carting accident.

"Than you." Gwynne accepted the offered bowl and sipped cautiously. A burst of dried berries complimented the earthy, nutty taste of the hot cereal it contained. Her eyes narrowed. There was something else...

"To help you sleep undisturbed," he answered her questioning look. "It is still a few hours before dawn and you still look like something the missus' cat coughed up."

Gwynne's laughter bubbled up at the erstwhile compliment. "It's appreciated."

"I'll wake you a few hours after dawn if that is still your wish."

"It is." She drank the rest of the hot cereal as the tavern keeper nodded and withdrew. In a few minutes, the warmth of food in a full belly and the sleeping draught worked their simple magic upon her, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
~*~
"You're sure we can't persuade you to stay?" A small note of hope was present in the tavern keeper's voice. "I've a son of an age as yourself who needs a good wife."

Gwynne shook her head. Already the small village was beginning to wake and begin the daily business of survival underneath a watery sun. At least the rain had stopped for a time, not that it would have slowed her in any case, and with luck the coming rain would further erase her tracks through the village. "I can't. I must continue onward."

"I know. Good fortune bless your path," he offered the blessing as if to one about to walk headlong into hardship.

"And may it bless yours as well." For all she knew, he might be right, Gwynne thought as she inclined her head formally. There was nothing to be gained and daylight, no matter how weak, to be lost if she stayed there postponing taking her leave. With a last smile of thanks, she turned and began walking along the northward track leading from the village. She would be able to follow the river for a time, and if fortune walked with her, find a secure place to rest along the way.

"If you ever change your mind..." the offer followed behind her and hung in the air. Gwynne turned and waved once more, "I will know where to find a man of an age as myself who needs a good wife." It was a pleasant dream to occupy her thoughts as she walked in the rain-fresh morning.

But it was only a daydream. For now, she had to follow an older dream. 'Find the house of many stories.' Those words were the last Hwyll had spoken after the attack upon him. She had found nothing in the lands held by the leeches. That left only the elves and the Sentinels, and whilst neither choice was particularly appealing, they were the only ones open to her that would help her avenge Hwyll's death.

'Find the house of many stories.' It was vague advice at best, so for now, she would keep walking until a sign presented itself to her.

It is wrong. It has been for a long time, but now I can feel it each day, all around me as I walk the Tower grounds. The old tracks that once pulsed with Power are diminished all save the greatest ones, and even the Dragon's Back is slowly bleeding away. The crays and carnedd no longer fill with quintessence as they had so readily in days long gone. It is only on the rare holy days when the world forgets its obsession with steel and silicon that they fill as they used to, and Paradox is always close and ready to claim us in its warped maw.

How had it gotten so wrong? How could we have let the Technomancers grow unchecked? The answer is sickeningly obvious now. It was greed for power that allowed this to happen. The world powers were content to hide the Technomancers away, encouraging them to introduce the artificial realities generated by their spells and science so that the world powers could steal that unholy power for themselves. They have achieved their goal, ripping the quintessence from the earth itself and twisting it into their arcane technology. The Technomancers have long sought to be the only source of power upon the face of the earth and within the artificial realms. Too late, too late again did the other Traditions see it, and now we must fight harder and longer if we are to survive.

Some of us bridged the distances between our Traditions to stand united in our opposition of this New Technocratic World Order. But we are so few. Too many of the others seek Ascension, more ready to flee this sphere and move into the higher realms, unshackling their souls forever from this plane. I can not blame them entirely for their choice; such a path is not for the faint of heart nor the weak of will. It leaves me to wonder some days exactly how many of them have failed and have had their souls cast back into the cauldron of creation. But I do blame them all the same. Should they have stayed, then perhaps the struggle to set the balance right would not be so impossible.

It is all wrong. Somewhere hidden away beyond the walls of Paradox where not even the most accomplished of us can reach, something has plucked the strings of creation and sent an ill chord echoing out into the world.

Now when I sit on the earth, I am glad that I can at least still feel the web of the living world around me. I feel nothing else here in this city. No longer do the tendrils of Power radiate outward from the burial place of Bran the Blessed's head. Is even that Guardian now slumbering so completely? It is that question which has brought me here to the Tower~

The sound that blasts over me strips the trees of their leaves before they burst into flame. I am amazed to see the sky roiling with smoke and lightning, rising upward to the heavens. It is a titanic fist of destruction let loose from the furnaces of the Christian hell. My mind reels as I try to take in what has happened, my hand instinctively clutching the ground before I withdraw it in horror. A bald, charred, and bloody body of a raven lies next to me, thrown across the courtyard with the violence of the wave. Searing pain grips me as the blast winds follow. I am burning. I am being striped of my flesh on the sub-atomic level. It is only the quintessence within me that keeps me aware, and I scream into the wind my defiance. I am not supposed to die in such a manner. It has been given to me to know the manner of my death...

Have the Technomancers stolen even that gift from me? There is no voice to comfort me as my soul is flayed and my flesh melts. No waiting Light to embrace me. There is only fire. Only pain.

I am finally and truly damned. This is hell. There is nothing left of me.

I long only
	for the comfort of Oblivion
		to take me quickly.

The ground glows with the snow. I can see it clearly in my mind's eye even as I sit inside my cottage. The image is burned perfectly into the living memory of my soul, for it has been given to me to know the time and place of my death. That I once did laugh and thank the bestower of the gift meant as a curse has never diminished the seriousness of my vision. In truth, I did actively study it as time and dream allowed, reading the clues the image would shew me so that I could prepare for this day of eventuality.

After so many long years, the time has arrived with startling quickness, and I now curse the frailness of the body that houses my spirit. Spirit is immutable, but alas time finally has proven that the flesh is transient.

A knock sounds upon the door. The stars are right, and I stand slowly, bent by age and not by fear, and move to open the door. Time and place known, but manner not. The thought does run through my head, but how horrible can such an end be if Death knocks upon my door?

An old hand, wrinkled and spotted with age, reaches for the door and opens it to Nothing. Neither light nor form nor shape meet my eyes; only the complete blackness that no night on earth could ever hope to match. As I open my mouth to protest, the light of a thousand moons explodes over my vision and I hear a hauntingly familiar voice echoing amongst the light: My love, my dear one, how I have longed for your touch again.

Those words still the brilliance within my inner Sight and I become aware of each passing moment as they fall from me. Words that were ancient when only water danced across the surface of the earth weave into my ears and out of my memory like quicksilver. The very air swirls around me now in colours which the entire history of mankind has neither words nor name for. A silvery ripple of laughter echoes and the vision, if it was such, fades. I am standing very much alone in that blackness greater than night once more... out of time and out of place...

From the formless Void comes form. The blackness fades to light and I feel as if I am falling. From a world away comes the sound of an infant squalling...

I had known, deep in my heart, that my mother was not going to be found waiting for me in the croft we shared as our home, and yet it was there that my feet first carried me after I parted ways with the true draoi Amhairghin. Who is to say why. I think now that it was the one last longing wish of a heart that had become wise to bade farewell to the innocence of childhood. The hens were well fed and the wizened face of Angharad peeked out at me from under the oiled hides that covered the wind's eyes in fair weather. "She ate'nt here."

"I know," I answered as I stepped into my home. The air was sweet with the scent of sweet herbs and clean hearth that had greeted me each day of my life. I breathed in the air as if I was taking my last breaths, and in a manner of speaking, I was. I waited, knowing that the old one would not keep her knowledge to herself, not when the relish of telling me what she knew would be too sweet for her.

"She be down by Sgwd Einion Gam." Then I knew with dread certainty that my mother knew what had passed and that it was left to me to find her. It was fitting that this revelation came to me where I felt safest. My haven and home would remain so, for the words my mother and I would need to speak to one another would be between mother and daughter, naturally, but now as well as equals. My own actions had pushed me beyond being her apprentice and heir. With fondness, I bade my farewells to my home and to Angharad, my mother's caretaker when she travelled, and began to make my cautious way to Afon Pyrddin where I would meet my mother.

The way to this green chapel takes time and care, and is not for casual, curious eyes. There is a magic in the air that gathers and spreads out across the country side which affords some protection for those who go there as pilgrims. While such of us as go there are now few and far between, there are hostels for us to rest upon the way. With the growing night, I chose to accept this gift, as much to thank those who guard this cairn as well as to still the turmoil of my heart.

In the small light of the following morning, the mist rose from the falls, ethereal and otherworldly, and it was here that I first glimpsed my mother's waiting form. Her mantle was pulled close around her in the grey light. "I knew that you were coming," her voice floated to my ears across the water, carried upon the noise of the falls themselves, "all the signs confirmed it, and I find that I am still not in readiness for this meeting."

Her eyes gazed into mine, searching and finding something that brought her a small smiles, though it did not pierce the sadness that was in her eyes. "There is no day that I would be prepared for this," she admitted as she stepped out of the shadow of the falls. Leaves blew around her feet as she picked her way down the stones, and I could scent rain upon the morning breeze. "But there is no call to shed tears over this meeting."

I had not realised that I was weeping, yet I did now that seeing her now that I wished to be a child again and rushed to her choking out words of apology. Strong, lean fingers cupped my face and I looked into my mother's sadly beautiful face. "What is it you are sorry for, Gwynne? There is no stopping time and there is no avoiding the path we are meant to walk, even if we choose not to set our feet upon it."

With that she sighed and drew me to the ground to sit with her. "Look there," she pointed to the mist rising where the falls met the waters of the pool below, "that is the breath of the serpent, and I have often come here to look at it and to breath it, but I never could take the next step to cross beyond this world and into the very breath of the serpent. It was not for me, but it was given to me to bridge the way for you."

"Why not?" I broke in. "There is none I know who is stronger than you. Even those who call themselves draoi are pale impostors when they try to speak of the ways of the land."

My mother was not angered by my interruption, but smiled and patted my hand as she would when I was small and pestered her with more questions than even she could answer. "You are kind, Gwynne, but I am not strong enough. I cannot bear to leave the land behind to learn what must be learned to nurture and protect it in the dark times that threaten to come upon us."

We sat after those words listening to the world around us. In that silence the first voice of thunder spoke as grey skies began to roll over the weak light of morning. It was as if nature was agreeing with my mother's words of the future and we both shivered at the thought. As much as I wished to deny it, my mother spoke the truth. There were few who could read the movements of the stars in the dragon's belt and fewer still who could do more than leave out offerings of fruit and milk for Y Dynion Mwyn.

"But why me?" Again I could hear the voice of the child I had been in my question. Suddenly, the exhilaration of being fully aware of the world around me dimmed as the weight of new responsibility settled around me.

"You know as fully as I do that the mists are growing thicker, Gwynne. The ways between the worlds are closing as the fogs of forgetfulness fall over the people's eyes. You knew more of the old ways as a suckling babe than the most learned of the draoi who live now. You know this, and you knew it upon your maiden's day." At last her eyes flickered with some light and merriment when she, correctly, guessed that I was comparing that long-ago day with yesterday.

In answer to the grin that crept upon my face, she gave a conspiratorial laugh which I easily shared with her. There was little need for more, and for a long time we sat as companions while the storms crept closer. At last, it was I that broke the silence. "It consumes you, the gift that you did not accept."

"It does, but do not think that I denied myself this gift. I have used it to make sure that you are as ready as you are to leave and learn fully the ways that are being forgotten here, and to keep what I can alive." There was no regret in her words or expression. I felt, truly, that my mother had long ago accepted the trade she had made, and that her words of warning were more for her own desire to keep me with her instead of sending me out to find my own way. But we both knew that there was no stopping the path that began unfolding before me on the day that I drew my first breath. "It will keep me long enough to ensure the land has a guardian until the day you return."

The first drops of rain began to fall, dancing up off the waters of the river, and in them I could smell the salt-tang of the sea, strange perfumes of flowers that I did not yet know the names of, the cold fresh smell of snow that never melted, and of dry winds of heated lands that never saw snow. There was no denying the growing excitement that I could feel slowly unfolding in my soul, and yet to step away from all that was dear and known to me seemed of a sudden far too much to bear. "I do not want to leave you, mamau."

I felt my mother's arms wrap around me as she crooned parts of the lullaby she always did when I was a small girl and restless. As I closed my eyes, I heard her voice, soft and sure, "How can you ever leave me when you are always in my heart and I in yours?"

Whilst all round us, thunder growled... in assent or at the loss of a daughter of the land, I will not guess... the rain remained light: a benediction given by the line of my mother and her mothers before her at the journey that was going to stretch out before me before my feet would find their way back home.

To hear the singers recite it, all momentous events and deeds are sung-in and glorified by the very heavens and the bones of the earth, and yet after I had stood up from the springy greenery of my bed upon the hill, the world I knew remained stubbornly normal. Even down to the very words I spoke after my eyes had been opened and my soul reforged were as practical as the plain leather shoes I was retying to my feet. "You know what name to call me by, and yet I do not know yours."

This provoked a great and delightful laugh from my initiator. "I know the name by which the world calls you, yes," he answered and paused to take the time to caress my cheek, "but as to the name by which you answer to the universe..." there he spread his hands open in gesture that spoke volumes, "that is yours alone for all time. Guard it well, Gwynne, more fiercely than you guard your breath."

His voice was light, but his eyes belied the carefree way of his speech. I nodded for I knew that he did not tell me things falsely as much as I knew that, no matter what debt I might have owed him for this fire burning now in me, what I had heard whispered amongst the stars and fires of the world's heart was mine alone. And yet... "That still does not tell me that which I should call you by," and with this I could feel the laughter in my eyes.

"Cía an crann agus an theine ag tuitim faire. Cía an dhíamhairina cloch neamh shnaidhite*."

His words near caused me to drop to my knees again, for even the dullest amongst us could sing the songs of Amhairghin White-knee and recount the deeds of he who lead our kinsmen to settle the green isle of plenty to the west of us.

"But that was so long ago!" Once more my words sought to discredit what native wit I was born with and to ignore the wonders that I had, scare moments ago, witnessed first hand. I was not sure whether to be relieved or mortified that my outburst was once more met with a deep, rich, and booming laughter.

"And yet, as you will find in the fullness of tide and time, that it was only a blink of an eye ago. It is like waking from a dream, to return when called; whether or no my offer is accepted. Now that I have answered you, it is your turn to find your path."

I did not understand, then, his words and said as much when he bent to kiss my forehead. "You are yet young, but the fire in your soul strong. Call upon me, dearest Gwynne, when you do have need. I will answer, as I answer those few others that call to me even now." And with that final benediction, pack was returned to shoulders and he began to walk down the hill. Would that they all answered as did you. The thought hung in the air as I watched his retreating back. I wished desperately then to understand what he meant.

Oh to be so young and innocent of such matters as I was then. I know now what his words meant, the sorrow that they hold, and I weep when I am alone with fear that the tide is too far gone in this lifetime to correct the path of the Aeduna... though many have come to learn that my tears are not signs of weakness. That is another lesson that I learnt from my mother, and not so far long after I was Awakened.


*Who is both the tree and the lightning strikes it. Who is the dark secret of the dolmen not yet hewn."

Here I must pause in my telling, for I know the pattern of the songs and lays that have come over from the Aquitaine. The one who awoke my birthright became neither regular lover nor mentor to me, nor did the world cease to be whilst time held its steady course when he grasped my hand in his. And yet, it was only when he pulled back from me that I knew that his lips had touched mine, only when I opened my eyes did I see his face wreathed once more with the luminous glow I had first espied when he crested the hill.

He guided me then to the earth to fully give to me all of my birthright, that gift which should have come to me on my maiden's day, would have come had the old ways still been strong in the blood of the draoi... but I am jumping ahead of myself in the telling. With a lack of ceremony, in the pure spirit of nature that calls all lovers together, we lay together side by side on the green grass bed of the earth. His hand moved by instinct smoothing down over my shoulder, past the hollow of my throat to skim over my breasts whilst his lips and tongue whispered endearments over the surface of my skin. I was hungry. I wanted more. I wanted everything that could be taken. In agreement with my desires, my initiator shifted and lowered himself into into the space between my bare legs. His eyes locked with mine, as blue as the sky above me, and I could see all possibilities echoed within that blue expanse.

For the span of a few heartbeats we lay still within each others arms, ours souls shining as our bodies celebrated the rhythms of the earth. When he began to move within me, my hands found his back, the sound of my blood hammering through me was the sound of all the rivers and oceans that covered the earth, an answering echo to the blood that drummed through the body of the one who was to Awaken me. I could feel the power of him, the strength contained in his arms, his hands, and his mind. Together we moved, our breathing coming harder and faster as desire, hunger, want, and the celebration of our bodies drove us on. I clung to him, tighter, rising up to meet him, to possess him as he possessed me. I cried out as the progress of the world sped past my bewildered eyes until I could no longer keep pace with it. All of creation shrunk to a small, still seed that lodged at the base of my spine. There the fires of that first spark which called Creation into existence burst free and burnt away everything that I had been. The fire that wreathed him had wrapped round to claim me, burning through my bones and blood, awakening and reforging me from the very knowledge of the stars and the secrets hidden away within the shell of this world. My soul was truly born and the veil of darkness burnt away from my Sight forever more. I was Awake.

The full weight of the one who had opened my eyes to the hidden ways of the Shining ones rested upon me, an earthly comfort as we lay there gathering our breath back into our bodies. When the rushing in my head stilled and grew calm, I knew that I would never again be counted as one of the sleeping children of this world.

Whilst I am not a member of tenebrae_nostro, one of my headmates is. She is doing this challenge to Rhea's Obsession and I am going to pick up the other inspirational music choice of Irfan.

Songs and table to follow ASAP.

1. With one wish we wake the will. - Irfan: Hagia Sophia

"By what call do you kneel to me, lass?" While his question danced with merriment and held no malice, yet I was afraid to raise my eyes to him, for fear of offending one of the Fair Folk. I could no more open my mouth to answer him than I could stand if I wished it, and dumbly shook my head in answer.

"Be at ease, Gwynne, and stand, for it is yourself that I have come seeking." The words sounded lightly again in my hearing and the reluctance I held toward standing melted as ease began to move through me. Whether it was the beginning of a deeper answering to him or from his command alone is a riddle that I still puzzle, but at the moment, I had no thoughts save to stand and wonder why this bright one had come to seek me out. Wild thoughts raced through me, nearly paralysing me in their multitude until one grew to be the quickest and the boldest.

"Are you my father, then?" The question came quicker than thought from my lips. I still could not yet believe that he was not from the Otherworld, although his radiance did seem to diminish the more I looked upon him. I had no way of knowing that the strange fire creeping up my back was even then visible had anyone been there to witness it, nor that it was not his own fire growing dimmer, but my own brightening in response. The lightness of head which I felt, I explained away as awe in the presence of this beautiful man.

"I am not, but I could have been." There was neither sorrow nor shame in his answer, and my heart eased in hearing the words, for I was greatly drawn to him. "Your own mother declined to accept my company and our paths parted ways upon the breath she used to speak. I am here now, called to you by what you could be, should you accept my offer."

Less quickly did I answer him, and this time in full possession of my words, for something now stronger than attraction was pulling me toward his company. "What could I be then, other than myself? What offer is there that could show me such things?" A slight wariness took up residence in my mind. Well I knew the songs of lonely ones, such as myself, becoming lost in the mazes between the worlds, and the words of my mother whispered quietly in my ears.

A knowing smile, one that whispered of secrets known to the earth itself, moved across his lips as he shook his head at me. "You must first accept my offer or not." Did my face show what my mind was thinking, for no sooner than he laid out his condition did his smile change and warm before he next spoke. "I swear upon earth and water, hill and valley, that I am as mortal as you are, Gwynne."

That was all he spoke to me. As plain as a pebble in a river the unspoken offer lay between us, and it was my burden to take it or no. Looking onto his eyes and hearing his words, I knew then what his offer was. All I could see was the turning of the seasons; the rising of the seed to ripen, blossom, shed it's burden, and then fall back into the earth to begin again. I saw the birds soaring above dipping down into the sea to transform into seals, sleek and wild, before washing ashore and running up into the hills as shining white horses. I saw the world that lies beneath this one, and I wanted to know that world fully. Smiling my answer, I nodded and held out my hand in complete disregard of my mother's advice.

I was going to murder my old life by ignoring my mother's advice, and I was going to do so gladly.

During all the years of green youth, my mother schooled me strongly in one area: that as I travelled on my own, I should be cautious of the company of men.

It was odd advice, at best, and to my childish self it was equally useless, and I paid small heed to it. The 'men' I knew best were the snot-nosed, grubby faced sons of the herders too young to go up to the summer pastures to fatten the herds much less go down the mountains to the market fairs where the surplus heads were sold. The wild places and wild creatures held far more interest to me than any sheep or cow herd could have hoped to have done: and while they were intriguing to me, the small elementals that I came to know in the wild places were far too alien to consider paramours.

Later, when my thoughts had caught up to the thoughts of the young lads of the villages who had, almost by divine intervention, grown into the the sorts of strapping specimens that could catch a girl's eye, I thought that it might be because any one of them might be my half-brother. Yet the more I tried to puzzle that riddle out, the less sense it made. I was never a fool and even if my mother wasn't midwife to most, I would have been able to count the moons from my birth backward to my conception and make the connection that my begetting occurred at the same time as the grim harvest festival. Knowing that, and knowing that I knew, all my mother would have had to tell me was to avoid copulating with any lad who was raised by no natural father. When my own maiden's day rite came and went in the the sacred grove, there was little sense in her advice, for my maidenhood was claimed by the draoi upon the sacred earth. There seemed little sense in guarding a gift already given, and after a time, I put the matter out of mind and quite forgot about it.

Which is not exactly true but still not a lie. My waking mind was content to forget the matter, but my dreaming mind would weave tales for me from the songs the bards sang by our fires in the winter months. Upon waking, I would wrap those snippets of dreams in spider-silk and put them away with other childhood memories.

As happens, no sooner is something put from your mind then the world has a mind has a mind to recall it to you. Oft times it comes with some warning to change your course, or if you are not quite so lucky, it comes like a bolt from the blue sky. My bolt came with no warning, which is not exactly true nor yet a lie, for that morning I had wrapped one of my dreams and carried it still close to my waking mind in my heart. As I was crossing the hills close unto Mynydd Epynt, for I was making my way home after delivering a neighbour woman of a fine son, there on the horizon I saw a man with neither pack nor horse, and he glowed as if the sun had come down to take residence upon his brow. I felt sure that he was a Shining One come from Annwvn and could not help but stop and stare dumbly at him as he approached. My legs turnt to water and, trembling, I sank to my knees before this radiant man.

My mother was a lean woman, as was my mam before her. Unlike my mam, there was little softness to cushion the edges and angles of my mother's frame. To my child's eyes it seemed as if there was something inside of her that consumed her slowly each time she gave of herself to help improve the lot of others. I would find later, that my imaginings were not far off the mark, but time for that recollection has not yet arrived.

I learnt early in my life the nature of life and death in the villages nestled in amongst the high and low places of Bannau Brycheiniog. It was only to be expected, as I was her heir as she had been her mother's heir, and would take up her mantle when the time did come.

It was a comfortable life. There was honey to be had from the hives, from the wild places where the bees gathered in the sweet nectar of the ubhal blossoms and purple heather that fed them well. The villagers would bring in meat for us, offering a piglet or lamb as their thanks for our assistance after the birthing season; not that we did much save speak the charms over the sows and ewes that their birthing labour would pass swiftly and cleanly, and then drive them between the purifying fires before it was time to send the herds to the summer pastures. Fish there was, too, in abundance. As a child I loved to set the eel traps or pass the day with a spear on the stream banks. The river sprites loved to gossip as much as they loved to play pranks upon mortal kind, and a comb of wild honey went far in persuading them that I was much better to gossip with than try to lure away to their caves under the waters.

During the nights, short in summer and long in winter, I learnt many lessons at the knees of my mam whilst she still walked amongst us, and from my mother as well. I learnt the airts of brewing herbs for weal or woe, how to entice and speak with the salamanders that sheltered in the hearth fires, and how to read the staves; although that was a skill I was impressed upon to keep secret as there were some who would look upon me in dangerous envy to learn that our skill with the sacred woods were better than their own.

That envy, though, was never enough to keep us from going to the sacred groves. We lit our paths with precious glas globes that held small candles on a bed of sand in them. When all were come together, we would hang those eerie lamps amongst the branches of the sentinel trees of the grove. It was there that I learnt the secrets of the ancient sisterhood of night, the lore and wisdom that has been cherished and guarded by the wise women of our blood through time immemorial. I learnt the rhythms of time and tide, how to read the stars and know where in the celestial houses the sun was from their marking positions, and the true secrets hidden within the breath of the great dragons of earth and sky.

Perhaps it was for all of this that my mother always cautioned me against accepting the company of men when out travelling on my own. At least that is what I thought until the day came when I was in the position to disregard her advice.

There are those who have always whispered that I was a fae child; wild at best was the word they would call me and changeling at the worst. But never within the hearing of my mother. The silence of cowards speaks volumes, I have found.

Yet, to be honest, I cannot hold such a petty, small thing against them. In truth, there is, hidden deep in the layers of time, some measure of truth to their words. No, I was not sired by a one of the Shining Ones. My body was fashioned from the the soil and stone of this earth, my blood taken from the oldest of ancient seas, and my soul kissed by the spark of starlight.

Starlight.

We all have it within us. Only there are few of us that heed the call of voices ancient before this earth was born and awaken to the star-stuff within us. My people hold that we once knew the Shining Ones better, and that it was they who gave us the gift of flesh and blood whilst those who were the master shapers of their kind took upon themselves flesh and blood to guide their newborn children. The Shapers and the Shaped knew and loved each other, the starlight in each of them recognising the unquenchable fires of life, and so was the blood of the Shining Ones mixed with the children of the earth. From that wild blood came the women of my line.

I have been called many things over the course of my lifetime, but for now it is enough that you know that I am Gwynne: Plainly and simply called, for that is how I started upon this earth like all of the Mother's lesser children.

I cannot tell you with certainty when I was born, for such accountings of the years belong to the Roman Church and those who fall under her influence. Such things did not matter to my people. What mattered to us was how the fields and flocks fared; if all was well, then what matter how many years had passed since the birth of a child in lands far removed from our day-to-day life.

Those who do consider such things to hold import have suggested that Henry Curtmantle claimed kingship of the Isles when I was born. I do not argue, for it serves no purpose. If I must have an age they can reckon, any king is as good as another to begin the accounting.

What matters far more than these things is what I came to know and become. Perhaps it is arrogance to suggest that my hand has helped to guide worldly affairs, an arrogance that I hope you might forgive considering the company that I have kept in my lifetime... yes, I will get to them in good time, have patience... and yet had I not become Mistress Gwynne of the Isles, who is to say that history would not have taken a very different course.

For that is who I am become and who I will stay to my end days and beyond. I am Mistress Gwynne of the Isles: Magus and witch, and guardian of the land.

31 October, A.D. 1398

The winds are howling with ever more urgency around my door. Even more, I can feel the draughts and scent the approach of the dark rider upon the cold fingers of air reaching through my shuttered window. I fear that this lamp's feeble light might be extinguished with the next bold gust. Should that come to pass, then I shall be resigned to writing by the light of the fire in my hearth, though I must set my old bones upon the cold flag stone floor.

It is not the discomfort that I fear most of all, but the worry that should I not set down all of my story. I fear that I would be out of time and my words lost to those who will follow me, as soon I shall be lost to this world. It is fitting that I take my leave as winter closes about these isles for I made my entrance here those many moons ago in the summer time. To those who come after me and read these words, do not spare me a moment of grief or sorrow: I have chosen the time and manner of my crossing and look forward to the new life I shall embark upon when my feet no longer tread this earth.

For those with eyes to see, I will leave you my gifts along with my words. May all the good gods keep you well.

I am giving Gwynne's account a face-lift and bit of tidying.

Posts to resume soon.

A few things are necessary to bear in mind upon entertaining this account as a friend. I am not Mistress Gwynne per se. She is a character created by White Wolf Publishing, Incorporated. I am borrowing the character to play in a game wherein neither profit nor material gain is made. The face used to portray my imagining of this character is Julianna Margulies.

Should you wish to contact the player behind the character, you may do so by commenting here.