[Lilly]

On the walk home, the children had been as skittery as copper-winged beetles on the rim of a forge’s firepot. They jumped at every little sound, real or imagined; at every touch of air that moved about in the hallway; at each flicker of light from the lamps which hung along the hallway; and especially at the shadows that wavered and grew large and then retreated once again along the way.

The anxious feelings persisted even as they’d crossed the threshold of their snug home and even though they had seen their mother bar the door....something the Silverfists had not done in all the time they’d lived here. Lys had done it only because she thought it would make the twins feel more secure; yet, as she’d hefted the stout oaken beam into place she shivered as she felt the prickle of her own unheeded fear creep down her back.

‘Let’s have some hot tea with honey,’ she said turning round toward Tív and Tíva. ‘And maybe a good measure of goat’s milk, too....eh?’ She motioned for them to come with her into the kitchen. ‘Tív, you stoke up the fire. And you, Tíva, fetch the milk and honey please.’

They were soon gathered together in a little knot, sitting on the couch. The fire crackled on the hearth filling the little silences among the trio as they sipped their drinks.

‘Is Papi coming home soon?’ Tív asked, watch the swirling patterns in the warm liquid as he dipped his finger in his mug.

‘Yes, soon. I’m sure of it,’ Lys replied, smiling reassuringly at her son. ‘Until then,’ she went on, pulling the warm, woolen blanket that lay across the couch back down and around all their legs. ‘We’ll snuggle in here and wait for him.’

Calling on memories of times with her own mother when she and her brothers were young, Lys told the twins stories of her mother’s family....light and happy tales to drive away dark thoughts. For the while, at least.