Kelpie Curse: A Feyland Urban Fantasy Tale (The Celtic Fey Book 2) by Roz Marshall Page B
Authors: Roz Marshall
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with her heart racing, the memory of his pleading green eyes searing her very soul. It had seemed so real. Had it just been a dream?
The other night, her dreams of racing through the forest on the back of a white unicorn had come true—in the Feyland game, at least. Could the minstrel's plight have been real?
When his eyes had locked on to hers the first time she'd seen him in Feyland, she'd felt an inexplicable connection—as if they were somehow destined to meet.
Perhaps she should see if she could visit the sim café again this afternoon, just one more time. In case the minstrel needed her.
But first I've got a lost horse to sort out.
Throwing the quilt back, she jumped out of bed.
Feyland would have to wait.
-::-
Elphin awoke to blistering cold. Again.
Throwing off the fur he was using as a coverlet and fastening his woollen cloak with fumbling fingers, he pushed his feet into stiff leather boots and hurried over to the hearth. Still a few embers glowing. Good.
A handful of tinder, some strong puffs of breath and a latticework of twigs did the trick. Orange flames began to dance and twirl towards the roof of the large cave, throwing a wavering golden glow onto the silvery granite walls. Spindly stalactites jutted menacingly from the ceiling like dragon's teeth, dripping glacial water onto the rocky floor below. Guarding the entrance, two huge white wolves lay with one ear cocked and one eye open even as they slept.
Elphin shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as an icy blast drove past the large boulder that shielded the cave's opening from the frozen wastes outside.
Here in Cailleach's domain on the slopes of Schiehallion, Elphin felt permanently cold; nothing he did could warm his flesh. It was only when he travelled to the Bright Kingdom or Dark Realm that his body returned to a normal temperature. But the courts of the fey king and queen were equally treacherous, for different reasons, and he could not relax there either.
Nearby, a shadowy pile of furs stirred, and a scrawny arm stretched out; bony blue fingers flexing like the claws on a raptor. She is awake.
He busied himself filling a kettle with water and hanging it over the fire pit. Everything would need to be just so . He had been walking a thin line lately, and if he gave the witch any further cause for ire, he might find himself not just cursed, but permanently incapacitated.
Or worse.
-::-
Sunlight filtered through the trees as Corinne hurried down the track past the farmhouse. Already there was the promise of heat in the air; a dry warmth filled with the smell of drying grass and the buzzing of industrious insects.
In the far field, a combine harvester was already at work, weaving up and down the field in its methodical pattern. Ahead of it lay golden corn shimmering in the faint breeze; behind it was shorn yellow stubble bristling like two-day growth on a Scandinavian chin. From the combine's side protruded a swan-like funnel, which disgorged its hoard of barley grains into a high-sided trailer pulled by a tractor carefully matching pace with the huge green machine.
The low thrum of the engines was a soundtrack that masked the noise of the latch when Corinne opened the wooden gate to the paddock and peered around the hedge. There he is!
A small flock of spindly-legged black and white Jacob sheep were munching contentedly on the short grass of the front field. Right in their midst was the grey, his coat looking ghostly white against the creamier colour of the sheep fleeces. Ghost! That's what I'll call him. Yes, he needed a name, and that suited him.
Throwing his head up, his keen brown eyes turned in her direction, nostrils flaring to catch her scent. Before she'd even taken one step into the paddock, he came trotting towards her, halting by the gate and dropping his nose into her hand.
Corinne rubbed his forehead in greeting. "Morning, boy. I thought I'd call you Ghost. Do you like that name?" He twitched a
The other night, her dreams of racing through the forest on the back of a white unicorn had come true—in the Feyland game, at least. Could the minstrel's plight have been real?
When his eyes had locked on to hers the first time she'd seen him in Feyland, she'd felt an inexplicable connection—as if they were somehow destined to meet.
Perhaps she should see if she could visit the sim café again this afternoon, just one more time. In case the minstrel needed her.
But first I've got a lost horse to sort out.
Throwing the quilt back, she jumped out of bed.
Feyland would have to wait.
-::-
Elphin awoke to blistering cold. Again.
Throwing off the fur he was using as a coverlet and fastening his woollen cloak with fumbling fingers, he pushed his feet into stiff leather boots and hurried over to the hearth. Still a few embers glowing. Good.
A handful of tinder, some strong puffs of breath and a latticework of twigs did the trick. Orange flames began to dance and twirl towards the roof of the large cave, throwing a wavering golden glow onto the silvery granite walls. Spindly stalactites jutted menacingly from the ceiling like dragon's teeth, dripping glacial water onto the rocky floor below. Guarding the entrance, two huge white wolves lay with one ear cocked and one eye open even as they slept.
Elphin shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as an icy blast drove past the large boulder that shielded the cave's opening from the frozen wastes outside.
Here in Cailleach's domain on the slopes of Schiehallion, Elphin felt permanently cold; nothing he did could warm his flesh. It was only when he travelled to the Bright Kingdom or Dark Realm that his body returned to a normal temperature. But the courts of the fey king and queen were equally treacherous, for different reasons, and he could not relax there either.
Nearby, a shadowy pile of furs stirred, and a scrawny arm stretched out; bony blue fingers flexing like the claws on a raptor. She is awake.
He busied himself filling a kettle with water and hanging it over the fire pit. Everything would need to be just so . He had been walking a thin line lately, and if he gave the witch any further cause for ire, he might find himself not just cursed, but permanently incapacitated.
Or worse.
-::-
Sunlight filtered through the trees as Corinne hurried down the track past the farmhouse. Already there was the promise of heat in the air; a dry warmth filled with the smell of drying grass and the buzzing of industrious insects.
In the far field, a combine harvester was already at work, weaving up and down the field in its methodical pattern. Ahead of it lay golden corn shimmering in the faint breeze; behind it was shorn yellow stubble bristling like two-day growth on a Scandinavian chin. From the combine's side protruded a swan-like funnel, which disgorged its hoard of barley grains into a high-sided trailer pulled by a tractor carefully matching pace with the huge green machine.
The low thrum of the engines was a soundtrack that masked the noise of the latch when Corinne opened the wooden gate to the paddock and peered around the hedge. There he is!
A small flock of spindly-legged black and white Jacob sheep were munching contentedly on the short grass of the front field. Right in their midst was the grey, his coat looking ghostly white against the creamier colour of the sheep fleeces. Ghost! That's what I'll call him. Yes, he needed a name, and that suited him.
Throwing his head up, his keen brown eyes turned in her direction, nostrils flaring to catch her scent. Before she'd even taken one step into the paddock, he came trotting towards her, halting by the gate and dropping his nose into her hand.
Corinne rubbed his forehead in greeting. "Morning, boy. I thought I'd call you Ghost. Do you like that name?" He twitched a
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