Storm


A chill wind swept the compound, and the women hurried about the duties that could not be put off, cloaks clutched tightly about them. Ice-laden clouds scudded across the angry sky, promising another storm of sleet and the inevitable misery it brought to man and beast alike. Across the compound, huddled in their byre, the handful of milch-kine lowed anxiously, animal senses alert to the lowering storm. Kira clutched the bucket tightly, secured the byre-door behind her and splashed and slid her way, head down against the wolf-wind, through the muddy ground to the warmth of the hall on the other side. She barely had time to savour the welcome comfort of being out of the weather before a sharp voice called out, summoning her to the small group gathered in a space adjacent to the hearth. Swiftly she passed the bucket to one of the women there, who poured a small amount of the warm milk into a wooden bowl, and passed it on herself to the one who had called out. Forgotten, Kira watched from the edge of the group as Orla measured from the vial she held into the bowl and, cupping it in both hands swirled it gently. She bent to the small figure lying within the circle, almost hidden by the blankets that covered her. Pale and still, the girl lay as though already dead. Only the shallow rise of her chest betrayed that she yet lay with the living. At Orla's nod, two of the group raised the girl up a little, and Orla gently placed a finger dipped in the milk to the girl's lips.
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