Around the Motherhouse Blog
- Created: 23 November 2012
The tiny pellets of ice, carried on the gusty wind and landing like so many tiny needles upon the shins and forearms of the big warrior went unremarked, almost unnoticed, as did the flapping of the robes against her thighs and shoulders. The wind smelled of snow, and the smoke from the bonfire below.
Standing like a great stone statue on top of the hill, she listened intently, catching scraps of the far off and mournful sound. In the square, the people were singing and playing their instruments in tribute to the Bard who had left this world to continue on her ethereal journey. Intermittently, a human sound would reach the warrior's ears: a laugh, a cry, an intelligible shouted word.
As the last of the day sank behind the horizon, a great sadness welled up inside the warrior that even her great strength could not contain. She tilted back her head, face open to the cold rain, and let out a howl that could be heard across the bogs and down to the rocky shores of the sea. Long it was, and loud; filled with the anguish and grief at the loss in this world of so melodic a voice, so sharp a mind, so indomitable a spirit, so loyal a friend. And when the warriors voice cracked and her breath was exhausted, she stood like that, face to the sky, eyes closed, releasing the flood of tears that had been contained behind the dam of her will.And in the silence, Brigid's grace; an answering howl from the woods, and one from the shore, and another that sounded like it had echoed off the rocks. The warrior raised her head, tilting it sightly to one side, listening. Yes. there were several answering howls. She was not alone. The Guardians grieved together.