To Ride A Púca by Heather McCorkle Page B

flinched. That was a side of her ma she had never seen. She wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.
    A loud clank echoed as her da slammed his mug down on the counter. His eyes cut toward her. “Ye did what? And just where were ye?” he demanded.
    Straightening her back, Neala refused to wither beneath his glare. “I was with a friend and we lost track of the sun.”
    “What friend? I haven’t met any friend of yers!”
    Hands waving and gesturing, her da flew into a rant that was painfully similar to her ma’s. Again she wasn’t allowed to get a word in. It was probably a good thing considering what she wanted to say. They treated her like she was ten instead of sixteen and she was sick of it. Slowly he ran out of momentum and stopped to lean upon the kitchen counter.
    “Ye’re forbidden to leave the farm until this danger passes,” he said.
    “What? No! Da this danger isn’t going to pass,” Neala said.
    She expected him to turn and confront her but he didn’t. Instead his shoulders slumped and he hung his head. It looked like the counter was holding him up. He knew she was right. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Her ma turned tear-filled eyes onto Neala that sent a bolt of guilt shooting through her.
    “How dare ye speak to your da like that. Of course this will pass, they won’t come inland far, they never have. Ye should not be thinking of fighting, ye should be thinking about finding a husband,” she snapped.
    “Find a husband? Where? Who, or would ye have me marry a non-druid? Ye can’t be serious! We’re in danger, this is no time for such things,” Neala yelled.
    “Don’t speak to yer ma like that. She’s right, a husband is exactly what ye should be focusing on right now and it shouldn’t matter whether he’s a druid or not,” her da said.
    Power burned beneath Neala’s skin as though it were trying to boil her from within.
    “Ma, how could ye of all people not understand after yer own family was driven from the North by the Danes. And yer daft if ye think I can find a husband among people who hate us,” Neala snapped.
    Tears spilled down her ma’s pale cheeks but seeing them only made Neala madder. The lies, the denial, and then this on top of it, it was all too much. Letting out a frustrated cry, Neala stormed off to her room. Once inside she spun around when she felt the weight of her ma’s gaze. With a flick of her hand, she threw her power out and used it to slam the door shut. Just before it came between them Neala saw shock register in her ma’s eyes. Using her power in front of her ma may not have been such a great idea. Not caring, Neala turned her back to the door and fell against it.
    That look on her ma’s face tore her up inside, making her want to run back out and apologize. But she couldn’t. If she didn’t stand her ground on this, then her brother had died for nothing. Why couldn’t they see that?
    Her room had always been a sanctuary where she found comfort, but right now it felt small and cramped. The rock walls were cold and confining despite the cheerful dried flowers hanging here and there. Neither her bed with its fluffy quilts, or her writing desk with her scrolls, were very inviting. The shuttered window on the opposite wall drew her. She crossed the room and threw the shutters open wide.
    The cool night air felt wonderful on her face and the moonlight that spilled in renewed her spirit. Whenever she felt bad the moon always helped.  Sighing, she leaned on the window ledge and rested her chin on her hands. Night cloaked the land outside, giving it an air of mystery and enchantment. Neala loved the night, but now even that small pleasure was tainted for her.
    Small glowing balls of light danced about the garden and trees; fairies at play. She envied their freedom and care-free life.
    Why had the Danes taken Dublin? Would they be coming this way soon? Sure, it had never happened before, but then they had never come as far down the