Lys: Homelonging

Watching them, Cathair entertained a notion of taking a pair back to the clan. Their enemies would be less inclined to attack, should his people have mounts like these!

But then the cold reality of his inability to return hit him, and he dropped the idea. Why had he thought it would be a good thing to ruin his life like this? Because at the time, it was the only way to find her. But now he had cut her off from home, as well. Her stepfather would be unlikely to accept her- he was not a bad man, but he married what he thought was a free woman, without encumbrances, and Aithne had ten years of uncertain history about her. Her only chance at returning would be as his wife, and he was no longer welcome.

So is it to be a bothy after all? he wondered. That was saying she'd have him. She certainly acted as though she'd have him, but he hadn't asked, and she hadn't said, and nothing was done until it was done.

"I don't suppose you have need of another hand?"


"That's what I was afraid of." Aithne said, sitting up once more. "Must every good thing be marred?" Wringing out her long hair, she bound it back until she could fetch her comb from her room. "I want to go... I want to wake up, that's what I want. It seems like I came to this place on its last day of happiness. As though I arrived just in time to see it die."
And there it was, the depression again. Why couldn't she have a few hours of happiness together? Even a whole hour? Cathair had returned to her, beyond all expectation, just as the rest of the world turned to fire and ashes around them. "I'm tired of death."

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