The winter winds were cold and brisk, raking icy fingers through the long grasses and heather. The air was damp. A light drizzle began to fall. Celia strode on as fast as she could. With her head down and her gaze lost somewhere above the ground just ahead of her, she marched into the grassy nooks and valleys she had explored as a little girl with Jack O’Leary, his pet hawk and his dog. She remembered how she, Kitty and Bridie had watched the birds and Jack had taught them all the names. Loons, shearwaters, grebes and lapwings – she could recall some of them even now. They had lain in wait for badgers, their bellies flat against the earth, their whispers full of excitement and anticipation. They had played with caterpillars, which Bridie had called hairy mollies, spiders and snails and sometimes, on balmy summer nights, they had rolled onto their backs and gazed at the stars and Celia had felt the gentle stirring of something deep within her which she could not explain. She had been drawn into the velvet blackness, into the bright twinkling of stars, into the eternal vastness of space.
What do You think about Daughters Of Castle Deverill?
