Blodwedd crouched on a high boulder at her back, knees splayed, shoulders hunched, and head low—more frog than owl at that moment. She had already heard the tale, and she was more relieved that Branwen had survived the ordeal than she was astonished by the nature of the task that the Mountain Crone had set her. But it quickly became clear to Branwen that not all her followers were so at ease with Merion’s enterprise. “Are the Shining Ones not all powerful?” asked Dera. “How is it laid upon us to help them? I thought it would be the other way around.” “So it has been up to now,” said Rhodri, looking uneasily at Branwen. “Are you sure Merion can be trusted?” “Hist!” breathed Blodwedd, her eyes flickering. “Among the stones such things should not be voiced. Every pebble is an ear to her. Every cleft a whispering mouth!” “And is that not enough to give us pause?” murmured Iwan. “That we should fear to voice our doubts lest the Mountain Hag rolls boulders down the mountain to help us on our way?” Branwen looked at him.
