adult
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Eoin peeled his eyes open and yawned. Hands splayed across his chest. The tingling of the void nagged at the back of his head. He blinked, bringing Seonaid’s face into focus. She had tucked up under his left arm, happily wrapping her thigh over one of his. He blinked again, trying to clear the cobwebs…
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I’m so sorry, Fearchar, Seonaid. I’m out of practice. I – I – “Wha’ di’ye mean White Horse a’ the Fyskar clan? Ye’re man, nae beast. Tradition died out centuries ago. None a’ the clans claim the land tha’ way. A disgustin’ myth told in dark corners.” Fearchar cut off the apology.
-
Seonaid and Fearchar’s heads spun into the inky blackness. “Ye bloody well could’a died, ye eejit!” Fearchar screamed at his employer. Eoin snorted. “You think that was a one-time occurrence.” He smiled sardonically.
-
Eoin released Seonaid and Fearchar. His head throbbed behind his temples, and his stomach made to greet the back of his mouth. His hearing turned fuzzy, his vision tunnelling. He collapsed face-first onto the floor between the two. They looked down at him then to each other. Eoin ground his teeth with frustration and horror.…
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Fearchar led Eoin to the croft entrance as the first sprinkling of rain descended on the hillside. Swept and well kept, the sill stone gleamed beneath small autumn flowers, absorbing the leftover warmth of the sun. He noted a few simple medicinal herbs and cold-weather vegetables tucked under rambling grass heads and shrubs. A hook…
Chapel Orahamm 