[Undómë]

She gave him a list of horrible consequences that would befall him if she found he’d gone back on his promise. But he was already slipping into sleep and the grip on her hand was loosening. She tucked his hand beneath the blanket and pulled the edge of his covers up under his chin. Her fingers slid gently over his scarred cheek.

Meghan was tired. Her head had quit its fierce ache, but now her joints and muscles picked up the protest of this awful day. She spread out her bedroll close to Brand and eased herself gratefully into it.

She did not know how long she had slept, but the fire had burned very low when the shrill cry rent the night. Meghan sat up, her heart pounding. ‘Please, please let it not be another attack!’ she gasped, her sleep fogged eyes taking in the hill top in quick glances. There were no figures moving about save for that of the young woman, Athwen. And she stood as if rooted to the spot where her blankets now lay in a tangle.

'Ean!' Athwen called, her voice broken, high, and shrill. 'Eanlaen, come back!’ The girl hugged herself in the cold night air, calling out once again in a wild voice. ‘Eanlaen!’

She approached the young woman with some caution. Athwen looked as one possessed, and Meghan had no desire to add to whatever demons had come to her in the night. She thought of herself when she was just a little girl and her father had died. There were terrible dreams that had come to her after his passing. And she remembered what her brother had done for her.

‘Athwen,’ she said softly, laying her hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. There was no response at first; then, Athwen began to talk, but not to Meghan. Something or someone invisible held her attention. Still Meghan knew it would do no good for her just to stand her, cold in the night, battling demons. And she suspected that the real demon was the girl, herself. She had made some choice, for good or ill, it made no difference to her at this point, and now that choice preyed on her mind.

Meghan stooped down and picked up the tangled blankets, wrapping one around the other woman. ‘Ean’s not here, Athwen. It’s only me, Meghan.’ She spoke gently, putting her arm round Athwen’s shoulders and walked her haltingly to where she’d left her own bedroll. ‘Only me . . . and look, here’s Brand. He’s sleeping and so are the others. It’s night and we’ve had a bad, awful day. It’s no wonder your dreams are filled with frights and dark things.’

‘Come, you’re so cold. And I can see your weariness in your eyes.’ She pulled the girl down to her blankets. ‘Snuggle in against me; I’ll put my arms around you tight . . . just like my brother used to do to drive away the terrors in the night for me. I’ll hold you safe. And when the light comes you can tell me of this Ean that you called after. I’d like that . . . to hear a little of your life . . .’

‘Lie down, won’t you, Athwen? Come take some rest . . .’