Bliain Mhaith Úr
Jan. 1st, 2015 01:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigid_moranBrigid spent most of the day at her wheel, focusing on nothing more than the clay between her fingers and not the decision that faced her when the old year gave way to the new. The decision that would set the course of the rest of her life - and whether that life would be measured in decades, or centuries.
In a way, she'd wished that Brigid hadn't given her so long to dwell on the idea. The past two weeks had been nothing more than a blur of of dawns and dusks while her mind tried to work out every facet of what her life would be like if she agreed; and then what it would be like if she didn't. Would she regret accepting? Would she regret not?
It was enough to drive a woman completely mental.
Still in a semi-fugue state, Brigid shut down the wheel, closed up her clay and supplies, and locked up the studio. As she still hadn't learned how to drive, she walked herself home in her bare feet - cold didn't seem to bother her any longer - and let her feet pull energy from the earth beneath her. The comfort of that connection, the welcome feel of every footfall, had peace taking place of the fugue.
When she reached her house and found the cloak draped over the rocking chair just outside her front door, she stood stock still where she stood for a full minute before approaching it and running her fingers over the impossibly soft velvet.
Brigid knew in that touch what her answer would be.
As she donned the cloak, she bent and put both hands to the ground. "Beidh mé."
There wasn't any lightning bolt, no ground shudder, but for the first time since finding the shrine in the forest, since travelling with Brigid, she felt right.
"Beidh mé," she said again, and looked up at the stars overhead as she heard the first calls of "Happy New Year" travel on the wind from town and the party at the lodge.
Mostly for Brigid's plot resolution, but if you want to talk to Brigid, she's in a pretty good mood
In a way, she'd wished that Brigid hadn't given her so long to dwell on the idea. The past two weeks had been nothing more than a blur of of dawns and dusks while her mind tried to work out every facet of what her life would be like if she agreed; and then what it would be like if she didn't. Would she regret accepting? Would she regret not?
It was enough to drive a woman completely mental.
Still in a semi-fugue state, Brigid shut down the wheel, closed up her clay and supplies, and locked up the studio. As she still hadn't learned how to drive, she walked herself home in her bare feet - cold didn't seem to bother her any longer - and let her feet pull energy from the earth beneath her. The comfort of that connection, the welcome feel of every footfall, had peace taking place of the fugue.
When she reached her house and found the cloak draped over the rocking chair just outside her front door, she stood stock still where she stood for a full minute before approaching it and running her fingers over the impossibly soft velvet.
Brigid knew in that touch what her answer would be.
As she donned the cloak, she bent and put both hands to the ground. "Beidh mé."
There wasn't any lightning bolt, no ground shudder, but for the first time since finding the shrine in the forest, since travelling with Brigid, she felt right.
"Beidh mé," she said again, and looked up at the stars overhead as she heard the first calls of "Happy New Year" travel on the wind from town and the party at the lodge.
Mostly for Brigid's plot resolution, but if you want to talk to Brigid, she's in a pretty good mood