Lys: Memories

Aithne nodded, but she was not in agreement. She kept her dagger close and her eyes on the men as she fetched Gwenhwyfar some more pears.

Screams echoed in the early morning mists. There were hooves everywhere. Hooves and tramping feet and weapons and cattle goads. Aithne stood in the midst of it all, standing at the gate of their pen, barring the way against the raiders. She saw her father raise his hands in satire, but before he could utter a word, one of the raiders bashed him in the head with the butt of his spear. She screamed. She took up her own goad and ran at the man. Halfway there her feet left the ground as she was hitched up by her tunic's neck.

"Let me go! How dare you! Cathair! Cathair!"

But her betrothed was out of earshot, battling to save his own cattle. Her captor laughed, threw her across his saddle, and gallopped away.

Her eyes narrowed. They would not harm her Lady.

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