Morvydd has a new dress, courtesy of Zara: dark crimson, deep and warm. The full skirt flows around her as she walks down the path through the woods, toward her cousins' houses, and now and then, certain she's not seen, she gives a little twirl to make it flare out. No doubt she'd be mortified if anyone caught her at such an undignified moment.

It's late. The surface of the lake glitters silver in the bright moonlight, and Morvydd is kneeling on the shore, wrapped in her heavy dark cloak, her black hair unbound. Her face is still, concentrating. Slowly, with great care, she leans forward and dips her cupped hands into the water; then lifts them, brimming ( Read more... )