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Melangell

Its heart was quick against her thigh, then slowed. She felt the hitching rhythm of its ribs subside, kept her own breath

as she heard the dogs pant close, their narrow bodies slit the bracken. Birds swung up from the slope

and marked the line of their approach; the saplings shook, then from the trees poured horses, men in red and gold.

And it was the same as the day she first stepped onto the sea, handed herself to the waves

and to the will of God: brash sunlight thrown back, the green earth tipping under her feet. Not so much

bravery, not so much faith as a small, dull light that scratched into life in her chest, then grew

until she could not see around its edge. Beyond, there was quiet. The hare dropped its head to its paws, and slept.^[1]

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