Twelve years upon the road, he had seen enough to know—families looked different to him. He had been raised by the young; he had been raised by the old. By men and women and the trees. The wind sang his lullabies, and the dirt marked his first steps. Only lightly did hands ever hold him. But children of the west were hugged and kissed. They were told stories, like he was told stories, but theirs had many happy endings.
Perhaps that was the difference between him and them. And not the fire that split their world.
Warmth did not make its home in his bones. Affection was strange. He did not know what it meant to be held and called beloved. And he did not think he ever could.
“Poor dear,” Halla said. “Ye be far from home.”
“A druid belongs on the road,” he whispered. “A druid belongs to the world.”
He was being forced to exchange one creed for another, and his body bent beneath his shame. He shivered uncontrollably. She pulled the sweat-damp shawl around his shoulders.
“Suppose it isnae right…” the old maid said, pity painting her face. “To take a thing like ye from its rightful place.”
“I—” But a coughing fit came over him, and specks of blood flecked the linen.
Halla gasped, clutching at him. “Tis a foulness got into you! Aye now, aye now, just breathe!”
His chest ached, each drag of breath painful and wet. She dabbed at his dampening brow.
“Asickness of the soul,” she muttered, blue eyes narrowed in thought. “Ye need the wind and good raw earth.”
She rose then, bustled to the door, and cracked it open to peer outside. Finding no prying ears, she returned to his side and whispered, “In a few days, there will be a feast for the big’n. It will be busiest then, ’n no one should see.”
“See?” The druid frowned.
She hushed him. “When everyone has gone for the party, I’ll come for ye.”
Slowly, he made sense of her words. “Halla… you mustn’t involve yourself in this matter.”
She stroked back his hair, and for a moment, he was certain she saw another face in his. “A great kindness was shown to me long ago. I ought repay it.”
He shook his head, grasping desperately at her hand, “Please listen, do not do anything foolish!”
The coughs shook him again.
“Oh! Look at yourself! It is foul ye be kept like barn stock! This is what’s come of it!”
“My freedom is not worth your life.”
“Is it nae what you wish? To return to yer work?”
“Of course, but I… Iwasfree, and they found me so. Would they not find me again?”
“Then we will be more clever! Ye’ve got totry, íridh. Yer wastin’ away! I cannae bear to see ye so poorly!”
His knuckles ached where they curled against the shawl. “Do you think me pathetic?” he murmured.
She smiled. “I think ye stubborn, but two can play at that. Yer ilk are like stones in water—strong even as they’re carried downstream. But sometimes, aye, sometimes ye mustfight.Let me help ye, íridh.”
He did not like the idea of running and thought her romantic notions of escape would shatter when put to the test. Yet… he allowed himself to imagine.
“Halla, are you… sure about this?” he asked.
“I’m sure what’s right,” she answered. “That’s enough for me.”
The druid averted his gaze, unable to look her in the eye.
What’s right…?
