Cywen sat and watched it all go by, just enjoying being still and watching, when mostly life felt like one long rush of doing. As the evening wore into night and the fire-pits began to sink low she found herself feeling reflective, thinking over the last year as she sipped at a cup of mead.

It is almost a year ago to the day that I was in the great hall in Murias; when Corban and Mam came for me . . .

Surprising her, tears swelled in her eyes.

I miss you, Mam, and you, Da. You would be so amazed if you were here. So proud of Corban.

Someone sat next to her, the bench creaking with the strain.

Laith. She had a cup of her own and was smiling, her eyes shining.

‘Tonight, life is good,’ Laith proclaimed, raising her cup.

Cywen nodded and touched her cup to Laith’s, wiping the tears from her eyes as she did so.

‘Your arm,’ Cywen said, pointing at the dark tattoo that now curled from Laith’s wrist to elbow.

‘It is my sgeul, my Telling,’ Laith said sombrely. ‘The record of the lives I have taken. The vine is my journey, my life, the thorns, each life I take.’

Cywen studied it, gently brushed it. The skin was ridged and peeling, hints of green and blue beneath the scabbed skin. She tried to count the thorns, reached fifteen and then lost count.

‘It is a serious thing,’ Laith said, ‘taking a life. A sad thing, I think, though better to take another’s than to lose your own. Many of my kin consider the thorns a badge of honour. I suppose it is that as well.’

‘It is,’ Cywen said. ‘But something can be many things, or can mean many things, not just be confined to the one. Like us.’

Laith looked at her intently then. ‘You are right. I used to think that you were just angry,’ she said, ‘but there is far more to you than just that. And you are wise as well.’

‘Hah.’ Cywen snorted and sipped from her cup. ‘The wisdom of mead, maybe.’

Laith grinned. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ she said, and did. ‘Now,’ she continued, smacking her lips. ‘Where’s that fine-looking Farrell gone?’

‘Farrell?’ Cywen spluttered into her cup.

‘Aye, Farrell,’ Laith said with a shy look. ‘He’s big and strong, got good bones, not like the rest of you. I’ve been thinking on him for a while now, and what with spring in the air . . .’ She shrugged and smiled mischievously.

‘You know he’s sweet on Coralen,’ Cywen said.

‘Oh aye, everyone knows that. But everyone also knows that she’s sweet on someone else.’

Y e s , w e d o , Cywen thought. Apart from the one she’s sweet on!

‘So perhaps he just needs the way things are explained to him. I was talking to Balur about it—’