themselves; not to me.
Ynis cocked her head, widened her eyes. “It’s got its own cloud!”
G RANNY : Aye. It’s got its own self.
Y NIS : Don’t look like a Little! Looks like a…fish.
G RANNY : Got a heap of growin’ to do. When it’s born it’ll look human.
Y NIS : What’s it eat?
G RANNY : What your Ma eats.
Y NIS (thoughtful): Oh-oh.
G RANNY (nodding): Aye.
Y NIS : Does it have a dad?
G RANNY : Most times Littles do.
Y NIS : Is it a he or a she?
G RANNY : You tell us.
Ynis came scrambling around the dead fire to me. Kneeling beside me, she placed both small hands on my stomach, then laid her ear there. Long she listened to Brindle soup gurgle within, to innards grind and air groan, to the flops and flips of the “fish” that I could not yet feel.
She lifted a disappointed face. “It’s a he.”
Disappointment chilled my bones, too.
Granny shrugged. “Goddess dreams up boys, too.”
For the first time Ynis’s dark, widened eyes met mine. “Ma. Do you want a boy Little from that bad dad?”
I folded thinning hands over my belly. I said, “Ynis. This is my Little, given me new and fresh from the Goddess Herself. And he need not answer for his dad. He need answer only for himself, and that only after he is grown.”
Across the dead fire, Granny nodded.
From that day she gave most of her dwindling food portions to Ynis, and to me, and to Dace within me.
Therefore Granny lies here now dying.
Midsummer morning sunlight slants through our thatch. I catch myself thinking that I must re-thatch. Such foolish thoughts mist into my mind, hoping to hide or soften this moment’s truth.
Sunlight dapples Granny’s pillow. It has not yet reached her sunken, wasted face. I think she may be gone before it does.
Drums sound from Fair-Field. The Tribe has been gathering all night for Midsummer. My jeweled green gown hangs ready, behind me. Soon as Granny goes I must rise quickly, dress, and bring the Goddess out to Fair-Field.
Should I fail, an eager substitute waits, a student druidess from Camp-Field Village. There creeps in another misty thought, to ease this dreadful moment!
For this moment, which should be solemn, is dreadful. Granny is going away. I am losing my Granny. Even now I am almost alone.
Not truly alone. Ynis sits cross-legged on Granny’s other side, dressed, like me, in her oldest rags. (Later, we will throw these rags away.) She waits and watches coolly, as I should, armed in ceremonial calm.
In his basket beside me, newborn Dace stretches soft, unswaddled legs and sighs.
No, I am not alone. But after this I shall be chief of our family. I shall stand alone between heaven and earth, Gods and men, and these children, even as I stand now between heaven and our Tribe.
Granny gasps. Ynis leans forward, interested. “Ma,” she whispers, “look at her cloud.”
Granny’s gray aura fades and shrinks with every gasp. I groan. Granny slits filming eyes to look at me. I mutter, “My fault!”
Granny should dispute this. She should comfort me. I think she can still speak. Or she could wag a finger. She only watches me with her fading squint.
I moan. “A fair harvest last fall, and you would be dressing now for Midsummer!”
Yet this was not all my fault. It was his fault! It was the Gods’ fault! Did I not lead him before Their very altar, show him to Them, show Them what I meant to do? They could have stopped us! Then, we were already past the guards. But the Gods could have sent an omen. The Green Man could have swung out of the oaks and torn us to shreds. The Gods were silent. They let me lead him away south. Only then, only after that, came the relentless rains that rotted the grain and the fall peas.
It was his fault! To save his precious life and blood he ran away. He left the Tribe to starve. Anger tightens my breath till I gasp.
“Gwyn…”
I startle. “Granny?”
“Don’t…call…Spirit here.”
“Spirit?”
“Evil. When you think of him…Spirit
Ynis cocked her head, widened her eyes. “It’s got its own cloud!”
G RANNY : Aye. It’s got its own self.
Y NIS : Don’t look like a Little! Looks like a…fish.
G RANNY : Got a heap of growin’ to do. When it’s born it’ll look human.
Y NIS : What’s it eat?
G RANNY : What your Ma eats.
Y NIS (thoughtful): Oh-oh.
G RANNY (nodding): Aye.
Y NIS : Does it have a dad?
G RANNY : Most times Littles do.
Y NIS : Is it a he or a she?
G RANNY : You tell us.
Ynis came scrambling around the dead fire to me. Kneeling beside me, she placed both small hands on my stomach, then laid her ear there. Long she listened to Brindle soup gurgle within, to innards grind and air groan, to the flops and flips of the “fish” that I could not yet feel.
She lifted a disappointed face. “It’s a he.”
Disappointment chilled my bones, too.
Granny shrugged. “Goddess dreams up boys, too.”
For the first time Ynis’s dark, widened eyes met mine. “Ma. Do you want a boy Little from that bad dad?”
I folded thinning hands over my belly. I said, “Ynis. This is my Little, given me new and fresh from the Goddess Herself. And he need not answer for his dad. He need answer only for himself, and that only after he is grown.”
Across the dead fire, Granny nodded.
From that day she gave most of her dwindling food portions to Ynis, and to me, and to Dace within me.
Therefore Granny lies here now dying.
Midsummer morning sunlight slants through our thatch. I catch myself thinking that I must re-thatch. Such foolish thoughts mist into my mind, hoping to hide or soften this moment’s truth.
Sunlight dapples Granny’s pillow. It has not yet reached her sunken, wasted face. I think she may be gone before it does.
Drums sound from Fair-Field. The Tribe has been gathering all night for Midsummer. My jeweled green gown hangs ready, behind me. Soon as Granny goes I must rise quickly, dress, and bring the Goddess out to Fair-Field.
Should I fail, an eager substitute waits, a student druidess from Camp-Field Village. There creeps in another misty thought, to ease this dreadful moment!
For this moment, which should be solemn, is dreadful. Granny is going away. I am losing my Granny. Even now I am almost alone.
Not truly alone. Ynis sits cross-legged on Granny’s other side, dressed, like me, in her oldest rags. (Later, we will throw these rags away.) She waits and watches coolly, as I should, armed in ceremonial calm.
In his basket beside me, newborn Dace stretches soft, unswaddled legs and sighs.
No, I am not alone. But after this I shall be chief of our family. I shall stand alone between heaven and earth, Gods and men, and these children, even as I stand now between heaven and our Tribe.
Granny gasps. Ynis leans forward, interested. “Ma,” she whispers, “look at her cloud.”
Granny’s gray aura fades and shrinks with every gasp. I groan. Granny slits filming eyes to look at me. I mutter, “My fault!”
Granny should dispute this. She should comfort me. I think she can still speak. Or she could wag a finger. She only watches me with her fading squint.
I moan. “A fair harvest last fall, and you would be dressing now for Midsummer!”
Yet this was not all my fault. It was his fault! It was the Gods’ fault! Did I not lead him before Their very altar, show him to Them, show Them what I meant to do? They could have stopped us! Then, we were already past the guards. But the Gods could have sent an omen. The Green Man could have swung out of the oaks and torn us to shreds. The Gods were silent. They let me lead him away south. Only then, only after that, came the relentless rains that rotted the grain and the fall peas.
It was his fault! To save his precious life and blood he ran away. He left the Tribe to starve. Anger tightens my breath till I gasp.
“Gwyn…”
I startle. “Granny?”
“Don’t…call…Spirit here.”
“Spirit?”
“Evil. When you think of him…Spirit
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