‘Daft dog,’ she says, stooping to stroke the hound’s ears. The wound on her side has healed well, and the fur grown over it once again. Slowly, but in a similar way, the frightening aspects of all that took place over the previous Christmas have faded. Tilda’s broken fingers mended. Dylan’s cut face healed, leaving only a short scar, which he declared manly. The cottage is peaceful now, and full of new beginnings, for all of them. Tilda keeps the torc in a safe place, and often takes it out to hold. To gaze upon. To remember. She allows herself to wear it, to feel the magic it releases in her, but only when she is alone at the cottage. And every time she uses it, she feels more at ease with the gift she has been given. It feels meant. This is where she is meant to be. And every time she runs by the lake she says good morning and thank you to the Afanc, even though the mother-of-the-lake does not show herself, but remains hidden in the deep, mystical waters. Tilda knows she is there, knows that the Afanc is aware of her presence. And that is enough.

She smiles at Dylan and touches the raised mark on his cheek.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘I’m starving. Time to go in.’

Dylan grins, taking her arm as they head up the path. ‘I’ll set the fire in the sitting room.’

‘I’ll sit in front of it.’

‘I’ll make something to eat.’

‘Thistle and I will eat it.’

‘Seems fair,’ he says as they enter the cottage.

Tilda turns, peering back down the garden path, scanning the sloping pasture, but there is no sign of the hare. She feels a stab of sorrow at the thought she might not see it again, but this is swiftly followed by a vision, clear and bright, of Thistle and the hare playing on the shores of the lake, at the edge of the woodland, the ground a vivid pool of bluebells.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks, as ever, to the team at Thomas Dunne Books, and all at SMP who have helped to bring The Silver Witch into being. Particular thanks due to Peter Wolverton and Mary Willems for their enthusiasm for the story, their willingness to be taken on this strange flight of fancy, and their attention to detail that won’t ever let me get away with seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time.

My gratitude, also, to the designers for such a lovely cover.

The staff at Brecknock Museum was wonderfully helpful, giving me access to the valuable collection of artifacts discovered on or near the crannog dating back to Seren’s day, despite the museum being closed for major refurbishment. I promise I never sat in that canoe!

About the Author

ABOUT THE AUTHOR