Words of warning.
A reminder about the spell of un-noticing and another spell of comfort and protection.
Morgan could have said the words aloud if she'd dared?or if she'd had the stomach for them. But she couldn't. Not the second spell. That she'd used the first at all was enough to set her to shivering for a fortnight.
Actually, she shivered anyway.
She had come to the point where she wasn't sure anymore sometimes whether she was awake or asleep. She could smell the sweet scent that clung to the mother. It was lavender and a taint hint of rose.
She could feel the mother's hand as well, around the little girl's. The little girl seemed wrapped in a feeling of deep love and great affection. Indeed, Morgan found herself wrapped in those same feelings?as it she had been that little girl and that woman her mother.
It was, oddly enough, the same feeling she had each time Miach touched her.
She had seen the glade with the well so many times in her dreams, she had no doubt she would recognize that immediately as well. She had relived the argument between the man and the woman so many times, she could repeat it word for word, though it was in a language she had not learned on Melksham.
She dug the palms of her heels into her eyes. It didn't help clear her head, but she hadn't really expected it to. She wasn't quite sure what would. Perhaps a very long, very difficult siege that would require for its ending a piece of daring business that would tax the very limits of what she could do. Or perhaps she could just ask Miach to clunk her over the head with her own sword. That might buy her a few minutes of peace.
She paused. Would Miach know a spell to drive away dreams?
She was almost afraid to ask.
She decided abruptly that she would not, but she would see if he could be prevailed upon for a bit of conversation. He was weary, she was anxious; it might be a good distraction for both of them.
"Miach," she said.
He seemed to struggle to focus on her. "Aye?"
"Who was Sarait?" was the first thing out of her mouth. She almost swore. Would this damned dream never cease to plague her?
"She was youngest of the five daughters of Sìle, king of Tòrr Dòrainn," he said with a yawn. "Why?"
"She was Gair's wife, was she not?"
He shut his mouth with a snap and looked at her in surprise. "Aye, she was. How do you know?"
"How do you think I know?" she asked crossly.
A look of profound pity came over his face. "Ah, Morgan," he said quietly. "Poor gel."
She cursed. It made her feel a little better. "I wager you know more about Gair and his doings than you're telling."
"I'll wager I don't," he said with a grave smile. "I've told you everything I've heard, or read."
"Know you nothing of his children?" she asked, pained.
"I don't," he said. "But we'll find the answers. Perhaps when we reach your destination."
"Will you come that far?" she asked in surprise.
He seemed to consider for a another minute or two. "I will, if you like," he said quietly.
She found she could do nothing but nod. Her relief was so great, she almost cried. She didn't dare look at Miach for fear she would weep in truth, so she put her face forward and continued on.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miach hold out his hand. She took it without thinking. He squeezed once, hard, then let go.
"Dreams are frightening, Morgan," he said. "Full of things we cannot understand."
She nodded as if she agreed, but she did not. Her dreams were full of things she understood all too clearly.
