Lys: Warmth

Just as Cathair said the words, large, shining drops of rain came falling down from the sky. Beautiful, Aithne thought. She had always loved the rain and fog- the fog especially reminded her of home- but the air was cold with the rush of water, and she pulled her cloak tigher, drawing a fold up over her head. "Fine, you call it? Aye, fine indeed, for a fish!"

Cathair laughed and took her arm. "Come back to the cloister- it's almost time for chapel, if that bell means anything." She gladly followed, the both of them moving swiftly, with Cu bounding ahead and back as though he was herding cattle.

By the time they reached the cloister, the warmth of the cider had been all but used up. The rain mostly rolled off the once-waterproofed wool of her cloak, but there were spots where it had been worn down and now soaked through to the gown underneath. She willed herself not to shiver again, not wishing to worry Cathair any more than he already was. Even so, she could feel her legs shaking, and her teeth were about to betray her and start chattering...

"Aithne, your fingers are like ice!" Cathair exclaimed, having just taken her hand instead of her arm. She laughed it off. "That's nothing compared to my feet!" she said, half-joking.

Even so, standing under the overhanging thatch of the chapel roof, Cathair pulled open his own cloak and drew her in, making her put her hands between them. Wrapping the cloak back around her, he said, "Now, let's work on getting you warm again." She smiled. He was always warm enough for the both of them, she remembered now. Midsummer, him stripped to the waist on the practice fields and her wrapped in a shawl while gathering herbs. Nestling in, she breathed a sigh. She was still in awe that he was here- that he had found her, and she thanked God for the blessing.


Cathair held her tightly, rubbing her back to bring some warmth into her. It seemed as though it had gone from summer to autumn in the space of a week, and it came back to him how easily she could catch a chill in the winter. Thankfully, her seizures were few of late, but he felt the thinness of her clothing and thought she'd have another health threat soon. I suppose I can accept sharing her small room in the cloister, if it means she's warm... He heaved a sigh of his own, heavier than hers, though he tried to mask its reasons, kissing the top of her head.

She looked up at him, smiling happily. So much faith in him, so much encouragement... He bent down and kissed her, and she, surprisingly, reciprocated, wrapping her arms around his neck in a very girlish manner.


For the first time ever, so far as she could remember, she didn't want to be the one to break off. The warmth that spread through her made her toes curl. In the end, though, it was a polite but insistant cough from one of the churchgoers that brought them both to their senses, reminding them they were a corner away from the chapel door. Aithne blushed, burying her head in his cloak until the old woman had passed by. Cathair was laughing quietly, and she quietly bopped him before they turned the corner and entered the chapel.

She had much to be thankful for.

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