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“Do you think it’ll be soon? I can ride my horse very well indeed, though Da says no racing as yet.”
“I think it’ll be sooner than you think, but not as soon as you want. He still needs his mother.”
“You healed him that day. I felt it,” he said, eyes half-closed as she looked at him. “They hurt him, the dark ones, and his light near to went out. But you found it and made it strong again.”
“Did you feel it or see it?”
“Both. Do you think I could ride with you and Bollocks on your dragon sometime?”
“If your mother says you can.”
She started to carry him to Aisling, then saw it. Saw in the fire and smoke.
Saw Odran’s world, saw herself in it. The terrible sky, the raging sea, the black castle, the jagged cliffs.
Where she stood with Odran, her sword stained with blood, and he, his golden hair streaming in the wild wind he called.
And she saw, in the fire, the choice she made. And the end that came with it.
“I saw you,” Finian murmured, and yawned as he snuggled against her. “I saw you there. Where were you? I don’t know that place. It wasn’t good, though. I could tell even though it wasn’t clear. You should stay here with us, in the valley where it’s good.”
He’d seen because she had, and because his powers continued to rise. And he was a child, not yet four, who shouldn’t see dark places.
“I’ll be back in the valley tomorrow.” She turned her head to brush her lips over his hair and send sweet dreams into his mind.
He slept in the way of young children, so trusting and deep. Shetook him back to his parents and watched them carry their three boys home to bed.
“Don’t even tell me you’re ready to call it a night.”
She turned to Marco. “Who said I was?”
“You, usually.”
“I’m wondering why you aren’t dancing with me.”
“Yeah?” He grabbed her hand, spun her away from the fire, from visions, and into the dance.
She didn’t dream that night, and pushed away the dreams that wanted to creep in during that fragile hour before dawn.
Instead, she rose and let Bollocks out for an early swim. She brought light to join the pixies and wandered over to look at her garden. She walked through the arbor to admire the progress on Marco’s cottage.
Daffodil-yellow walls, he’d decided. Because they’d be cheerful even on the cloudiest day. She imagined him there, working in the kitchen, or in the room he’d have for his music.
So much change in one year. So many wondrous changes.
She went in, wrote a blog about the gardens, Marco’s cottage, about all the gifts given in a single year of her life.
When he, too, rose early, Marco baked. Brian kissed him goodbye, and Breen tackled the dishes and pans.
Once again, they carried boxes into Talamh.
She ran the stand with him, while watching Morena give hawking lessons. She watched the dragons and riders fly in from the east, then gave a young boy his wish and flew him up on hers to join them.
“Did you see me, Nan, did you see me?”
When they landed again, he ran to Tarryn.
“Sure I did, flying like the wind. And did you thank Breen for taking you up?”
