She opened her eyes to the soft dawn light which shone in through the ample grianan windows. As she sat up in bed, the first thing she saw was the clay pitchers of daffodils. They’d wilted. Languidly, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the flowers. She touched each petal, wishing she could bring the daffodils back to life. Yet, at the same time, she had an odd feeling the wilted flowers were a sign Blaise would come home today. With a jug of daffodils in each hand she stepped outside and tossed the dead flowers away then plopped down on the boulder by the castle gate. As she dangled her feet and stared down the misty hilside of Dinas Bran, she spied two men, plaid brats wrapped around them, riding up the narrow mountainside path. They looked like tartan tents mounted on horses. Blaise and the messenger. She remembered the ransom and felt shaky but shook off the feeling of dread upon realizing she wouldn’t have to leave this mystic place. She’d found Bran’s treasure. The god promised.
