Aisling I
The timber stands of the Cran’Soir Forest were cloaked in thick coat of snow. It was Yewlan Eve, the night before the Winter Solstice. Birds chirped and red squirrels danced among the branches. Aisling Nic’Branna wandered through the pale birch trees. Where most would have had difficulty moving through the deep banks; she moved fairly unhindered.
Snowflakes clung to her coal-black hair. She stopped for a moment to warm her hands with her breath. Her pale cheeks were pink, and her breath hung in the air like a wraith. She continued before stopping at a hollow stump of a once great tree. She began to dig at the snow until she came to the entrance she had constructed. Deer hide served as a door to the entrance of the tree.
She had discovered this spot in her youth and made a sort of ‘castle’ of it. She had heard of great fortresses of stone from her mother, but had never seen one up close. She folded the skin back to let light into the hovel. It was warmer in here and she removed her mittens. She found what she had came for; a brass pendant shaped like a wolf hanging from a thong. She had traded a woodsman for it. She thought it would make a perfect gift for her mother. She tucked it into the pouch hanging from her belt and fastened it tightly. She scrambled out of the hole and began her trek home.
She was about halfway back when the feeling of being watched came over her . Her eyes glanced around. She had two eye colours, one emerald and the other sapphire. The birds had stopped singing. Her ears strained against the silence, searching for the sound. She put her hand on her dagger. She cautiously continued. Her senses attuned to any sound that would signify danger.
Something hit her in the back, knocking her to the ground. She rolled over, ready to stab her attacker. A massive wolf stood over her. It’s fur was mostly grey mixed with white. It’s pink tongue hung out as it panted. The corner of it’s maw were turned upwards. It learned down and gave her a slobbery lick. She wiped the saliva from her cheek and smiled.
“Alright. You got me,” she smiled. The great-wolf yipped and allowed her to stand up. It’s bushy tail wagging happily. She scratched behind his ear.
“Good job Fiain,” she complimented. This was a game they had been playing since she was young. She had rescued the wolf from a ditch where it had fallen and broken his leg. She carried the then, pup home and begged her mother if she could keep it. In the years since that moment, they had become fast companions.
“Come’on,” she said. The wolf padded behind her, wagging it’s tail.
The croft where Aisling and her mother lived was set into a clearing. It was a simple house with stone walls and a sod roof. She opened the door and was greeted by the warmth of the fireplace and the smell of freshly cooked stew. Fiain followed her and shook the snow from his fur.
“Mum? I’m home!” she called hanging her quiver, and cloak on a hook by the door. She leaned her bow against the wall. The house was small. But it was big enough for the pair of them. The floor was dirt. The main room had benches draped with fur, positioned around a central hearth. Candles lit the corners. Pots and pans hung next to drying herbs along the wall. She heard a sound in the bedroom. She stepped over to the door and gently pushed it open.
“Mum?” she called again. She found her mother. She hurriedly threw a blanket on the bed before Aisling could see what she was doing.
“Oh!” cried her mother, “Darling, I didn’t hear you come in! You scared me half to death!”
“I apologise.” Her mother stepped up to her. Her hair matched Aisling’s, black as night, but her eyes were a silver-blue. She gave her daughter a tight embrace.
“How was your walk?” she asked.
“Beautiful! Fiain finally snuck up on me,” she grinned. Her mother smiled and pushed a stray hair away from Aisling’s face. A look of melancholy came over her.
“Mum? What’s wrong?” asked Aisling, worried.
“It’s just my little vision is growing up so… Oi! Fiain! What do you think you’re doing?” The great wolf was just moments from snatching a rabbit leg from the table. He froze, his mouth nearly grasping the meat. He looked at Branna, back at the leg, and then back at Branna; before he tucked his tail between his legs and hid behind Aisling, as well as he could, whimpering.
Her mother returned her attention to her daughter, “You hungry? Come, let’s get some food in you. The stew will warm you up nice.” Aisling sat at one of the benches as her mother ladled stew into a wooden bowl. She sipped on the stew as her mother continued cutting the meat. Fiain whimpered and laid on the ground watching her. His eyes were large and his nose twitched. He rolled on his back and let his tongue hang out. Aisling heard her mother sigh, and saw her toss the rabbit leg to the wolf. He caught it and began to rip the flesh from the bone. Aisling sipped on her soup and it did indeed warm her.
After Aisling had finished her stew her mother took the bowl and set it aside. Branna sat next to her daughter and they watched the fire lick along the crackling branches. Aisling let her mother pull her close. She always loved being swaddled. She loved hearing her mother’s heartbeat. They sat there enjoying the company of the other. Eventually Branna released her daughter. Aisling was confused by this sudden change of posture.
“I have something for you,” said her mother.
“What is it!?” Aisling cried, her face lighting up.
“Close your eyes.” She did as she was asked. She squeezed her eyes shut. She heard the bedroom door open, and then shut a few moments later.
“Alright sweetheart, you can open your eyes,” came her mothers voice. Aisling’s eyes popped open. Standing before her was her mother, holding an unstrung longbow. It’s wood was pale contrasting with the black hide grip. She recognized the wood as wytch elm. Her hands jumped to her mouth.
“W-w-w-ha… I… um…” she struggled for words.
“Do you like it?” asked her mother. Tears welled in her eyes. She leapt from the bench and hugged her mother.
“Thank you so much!” She took the bow in her hands. The wood was smooth and the grip felt at home in her palm. It was about as tall as she was. It was beautiful.
“Where did you get this!?” cried Aisling.
“Cyran Fletcher made it for me.”
“It must of cost so much. Where did you get the coin?” she asked.
“I’ve been saving.”
“Mum… you shouldn’t have…” Aisling plopped down on the bench. Her ebony locks hung over her face as she stared at the gift. Tears began to form in her eyes.
“What’s wrong sweetie?” Her mother sat next to her.
“W-w-well… Now my gift for you isn’t going to be as wonderful…” Her lip quivered.
Her mother kissed the top of her head, “Aisling… You are the best gift I have ever been given. So you needn’t give me anything.” Aisling reached into her pouch and withdrew the pendant.
“This is for you…” sniffed Aisling. Her mother took it and smiled.
“Now I have to ask you where you got this!” Her mother’s tone was a mixture of joking and minor worry.
“I traded a woodsman for it a few months ago. I caught some deer for him. Fiain helped. So I guess its from the both of us.” The wolf’s ears pricked up at the mention of his name.
“Thank you my little vision,” said her mother, tying the thong around her neck, “You too Fiain.” Aisling yawned. It was late. She said goodnight to her mother, stepped into the bedroom, slid her deerskin breaches off, tucked them safely in a trunk, before slipping underneath the heavy woollen blankets and furs. She rested her head on a straw pillow. Fiain made an appearance, clambered up on the bed and laid next her. She wrapped her arm around the great wolf and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Aisling was ripped from her sleep by a harsh pounding. She sat up. Her mother was already pulling on her shoes and wrapping a stole around her shoulders. Aisling followed her mother, and wrapped herself with a bearskin from her bed. Fiain looked at her, his head tilted.
“Stay,” whispered Aisling and the wolf rested his head on her pillow. When she entered the common area, a woman in a deep blue cloak stood in the doorway. The cloth was crusted with ice. The woman threw her cloak back to reveal neglected hair with eagle feathers tied into hit. Aisling was fascinated by the woman. Her face seemed ancient, but still appeared to be that of someone around Aisling’s age.
“I am grateful for you granting me entry into your abode,” said the woman. She spoke softly, and in a leisurely pace, but with an intense energy
“Of course!” said Branna, taking the woman’s cloak and hanging it near the fire to dry it. The woman’s clothes were mostly deerskin, cut into a dress that hung between the woman’s legs, exposing them to view. The top was cut low. Green lines spiralled, twisted and arched all over the woman’s skin.
“Here, let me push the benches together, so you may have a place to rest,” stated Branna, “Aisling, would you help me darling?” Aisling helped her mother push the benches together to make a platform for the woman next to the fire. Branna opened a chest and pulled blankets and furs from within. She laid them across the benches.
“There! I apologise, but we don’t have much in the ways of foodstuffs. But there is some bread and water on the table,” explained Branna.
“Thank you greatly, may the gods smile upon you and your family,” said the woman, sitting on the edge of the platform.
Branna smiled, “If you need anything I’ll be in the other room.” She stepped through the door and shut it. The woman looked at Aisling with eyes deeper than the sea. Aisling stared back.
“Do you know why I have came upon your home child?” she asked. Aisling shook her head.
“I have come here to speak to you in a sheer manner, Aisling Nic’Branna.” Aisling’s brow furrowed.
“How do you know my name?” she demanded.
“I see many things. I know many things. Things past, things happening nowenly, and things that have yet to be told. I am here because I bear tidings.”
“What is it?” questioned Aisling, intrigued yet nervous.
“You must go to a town called Lismorg. There is a castle there called, Gaer’Lismore. It is the seat of the Great Clan MacLismore. You are needed there to help them, for they will need it.”
“What? Why me? I’m just an herbalist’s daughter!” baulked Aisling. The woman chuckled. Aisling scowled.
“You may be an herbalist’s daughter, but you are not just an herbalist’s daughter. You have the dreams don’t you? Where you see things from Fiain’s outlook?” Aisling did have dreams like that; not regularly, but they did happen.
“How do you know about that!?” she growled.
“I told you, I know many things wolfling,” reiterated the woman, “You must go to Lismorg.”
“I don’t know anything about this Lismorg! I don’t even know where it is!” she hissed. She wanted to shout, but didn’t want to wake her mother.
“I know who you are,” chuckled the woman, “You will go there… be it by your own will, or factors you do not have stewardship over.” Aisling was at a loss. She scoffed, spun on her heel and returned to her bed. Her thoughts ran wild, but the warmth of Fiain, and the blankets eventually lulled her back to sleep.
The next morning, there was no sign of the strange woman. The furs and blankets had been returned to their original place in the chest, and the benches were in their usual place. She wondered if she had dreamed up the whole encounter. She decided not to tell her mother about the conversation. Winter soon passed and gave way to Spring. The snows melted and the encounter soon faded from her mind.
