They care for her needs, which are few enough… goat’s milk and berries, bread and herbs…fur for the cloak and boots she wears against the cold through the long nights of vigil by the stones.
They keep their distance, coming only to the Guardian.
She speaks to none else who do not seek.
Very different this life from her beginnings in the bright, fire-lit halls of lore and music… but it is life and she serves the Clan of the Raven.
Laying her hand on the great mound she walks through the cairns to the home-place to warn him of their coming. Bending low she enters the house, low roofed and sturdy, lined with stones piled between the circle of uprights, a special burial at its heart, capped with stone.
He had gone back, her Guardian… under cover of night… dangerous work…to bring her their ashes and a spray of rowan berries to lie beneath her bed.
He would meet the seekers of answers when they came, offer them bread and milk on the lawn between the mounds… then he would bring the seeker with his questions and she would carry them into vision by the stones.
She would not sleep tonight…