Wolf-Heart (The Mórrigan's Wolf, Part 1)

Chapter 1

Kingdom of Fib
(Modern-day Fife, Scotland)

Spring had finally come, with Beltane but a handful of days ahead. Preparations were being made for the celebration, though on a much smaller scale. With so few of the Pagan Pict kin groups left, there wasn't a need for a massive festival they'd enjoyed for earlier generations uncounted. There would be no far-flung kin traveling in to visit for the holiday as there had in years past; the invaders from the Norse countries moving south from the isles had seen to that, and those who survived the Norse invasions were being lost to the eastward push of Christianity. Even Faoladhean's kin group was forced to flee from their home in the Highlands, once their numbers dwindled to the sorry dozens they were just a generation ago, rendering them unable to keep their lands via strength and blood. The Pictish ways and people, one way or other, were dying out.

It irked Faoladhean to be leaving so soon, but there was little choice elsewise. Were she and her kinfolk to make their way back home from this errand before Lughnasadh, their departure now was necessary. What angered her more was that they were forced to take on this errand in the first place - in order to supplement their subsistance farming, Faoladhean's father, Brude, had begun contracting their warriors to traders and merchants. Though their numbers were few, they were still every bit as fearsome in fighting as their ancestors who terrified the Romans. "Picti," the legions called them, so named for the tradition of blue tattooing that adorned their bodies. Their reputation and legends usually preceded them, and the mere presence of her people was enough to keep petty roadway bandits away from the merchants and tradesmen who wanted protection on their travels to sell their wares.

And so it was, Faoladhean found herself checking over her weapons and armor, making ready for the trip. Earlier that day, she and her younger sister, Moireach, had each helped the other braid their long, dark auburn hair into tight plaits, making it easier to manage on the road. Unlike when they were children, there was no good-natured teasing and giggling between the sisters, or stolen glances at the young men. This time, there was a heavy silence between them, both likely preoccupied by the impending departure.

As she was rolling a cloak to shove in a saddle pack, footsteps approached. She glanced up to see her father, looking serious and tired.

"Faoladhean, m'ghradhag dhil..." (my beloved girl)

She huffed a breath through her nose as she straightened from the pack on the floor. "Father, I am noe a wee girl anymore. I have noe been for a few summers now - I was betrothed, ye ken." Despite the glare she directed toward Brude, she knew her irritation with him was unfair.

A sad smile crossed Brude's face as he regarded her. "Aye, I ken it...though you will always be my beloved girl. You and Moireach both. Warriors strong and skilled as ye both may be, tis a father's curse to wish ye to stay safe as when ye were weans."

Saying nothing, she began to gather a few other items to shove into her leather packs.

"Faoladhean..." her father reached out and placed his hand on her arm, "what angers ye?" His tone of voice was all too familiar, it was the tone that said, "out with it," and would bear no denials on her part.

Frustrated, Faoladhean tossed the items she was holding beside the packs. "I dinnae like leaving everyone here like this, unprotected! What happens if there is a raid? Ye hae but a few men strong enough to even hope to hold off an attack! This is madness - and for what?! Silver?!"

Her father stood straighter, meeting her fiery green eyes with his level brown ones. "I may be aging, but I can still wield my sword. And Taran--"