Always clumsy, I cursed as the soft beakers crumpled into lumps of mud beneath my fingers. I was no good at such menial chores. I, Ardagh, the chieftain’s daughter was good at naught except being the chieftain’s daughter…. Sighing, I threw the clay aside and lay back, watching the swift passage of the clouds. Perhaps that was all I was good for – dreaming and mooning about the hillsides like one fey-touched... My reverie was broken as my ears picked up the sounds of feet on the grass. Sitting upright, I spied Bri, the youngest daughter of Tulkar the smith, sprinting up the hill. I rose as she approached me, lank hair flying in the wind. Thin, dark and dirty, she looked like a beggar, yet no one would ever treat her with anything less than respect for she was a smith’s daughter, and smiths were regarded as wizards, having learned the art of working the fire-metal bronze. “Welcome, Bri,” I greeted her. “What brings you here?” I wiped my hands on my corded kilt. “My feather has a gift for you.”
