[Undómë]

‘No need to call Dorran, Master Leod.’ Meghan sat down cross-legged on the ground beside Brand. She leaned forward and adjusted a cool cloth the healer had placed on Brand’s head since the chill he had been experiencing now gave way to a raging fever.

If you’ll bring us some broth and tea . . . oh, with your honey in it, just a little please. I’ll see what I can get into him. Me, too if you please,’ she finished off giving him a smile.

Turning her attention back to Brand, she leaned forward resting her right elbow on her knee. Her hand cupped her chin as she rocked just a little back and forth, thinking. ‘You know, I think I only got up to my eleventh year on the farm in Bregoware . . . the last time we talked . . . remember?’ She thought she heard a groan from him, though she could not tell whether it was from pain or the anticipation of listening to the seemingly never empty treasury of stories from her childhood.

Someone had come up and set a big bowl of broth thick with some minced meat from what the others were eating. And their mugs had been filled with sweet tea. Meghan propped Brand’s head and shoulders up on a couple of rolled blankets and spooned a little of each into his mouth, ordering him to swallow. ‘Don’t make me do like I’ve done for my goats sometimes when they’re off their feed, sick with something, and getting weaker.’ She gave him another spoonful of broth. ‘I’m sure you’ve used it on your sheep,eh? Tube down the throat to the tummy . . .’

‘Good, good. I see you’re swallowing well now.’ She took a few spoonfuls of broth herself and a big gulp of the sweetened tea. After a fair period of him sipping at the tea and broth, she let him rest. ‘I’d offer you a bite of this dried meat,’ she said taking a slender piece of smoked goat from the inner pocket of her vest. ‘But it’s rock hard and I think you’d be asleep before you got it to where you could swallow it.’

Meghan wiped his face with the cloth from his forehead. He seemed to be dropping into a restful sleep. His breathing had evened out, and he did not seem quite as hot. She spooned the remainder of the broth into her own mouth, speaking low to him, in a sing-songy, remembering sort of manner between the spoonfuls.

‘When I was eleven, I helped my brother deliver our first set of twin kids. It was a mild winter; I remember that. And the first soft breath of Spring was just blowing across the new grass, just sprung up. You know, how it is, Brand. The smell of the first trees in blossom was sweet in the air . . .’