Remember the first, was what she'd been told, too young to forget, too old to honestly remember. Remember the first, Isolde, and never let the second bind you
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Rollo found her first, padding through the garden with his great head low. He'd never been a huge fan of Isolde's, truth be told, but the closer she came to giving birth, the more protective of her he became. He trotted up to her and licked her hand.
"My love," called Ian, following him through the trees. "Th' day finds ye well?"
It cracked, creaking and she's afraid it will break as she opened the lid, lifting it up, pulling it, sliding her dirty nails under the lid as she nodded, brushing the dog slightly away.
"It finds me as it finds me," she said, wrinkling her face pensively. "I cannae believe I'd nearly forgotten, I shouldn't have, I couldn't have.'
It smelled right, like strawberry and hay and old sage, just as she remembered, and everything came back in a wave as she dug around to dig the rest of it out.
"My chest, my things," her heart was in the box, she'd said once, when she was young and foolish. "It's come back."
The lid opened with a pop and groan, and with more effort than she recalled. Squinting slightly she pulled the dust and dirty covered leather and fabric aside, touching the the figures that lay on top.
"Brigit, the Mórrígan, and Ériu," she recounted, touching each of the wooden women in turn, thinking of alternate names for them.
Almost petulantly, she stuck out her tongue for a moment, before shaking her head and resting her head against his.
"That may be true, but I was, so young, nearly drowned, just twelve, and believed in everything." And she hadn't cared that no one had come looking for her.
"Tis not a sin, not even a tragedy," she told him, laughing quietly. "Look where near drowning brought us, it brought me to you, right out of the water."
She dropped the seal back into the box, and heard it clunk against what was still there. Other half-forgotten things.
"My love," called Ian, following him through the trees. "Th' day finds ye well?"
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"It finds me as it finds me," she said, wrinkling her face pensively. "I cannae believe I'd nearly forgotten, I shouldn't have, I couldn't have.'
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He looked warily at the box in her hands.
"What d'ye have there, lass?"
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"My chest, my things," her heart was in the box, she'd said once, when she was young and foolish. "It's come back."
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"What sort of things?"
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"Brigit, the Mórrígan, and Ériu," she recounted, touching each of the wooden women in turn, thinking of alternate names for them.
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"...Goddesses, am I right? Somethin' like that, aye?"
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She picked up a seal, turning it over, and remembering who had given it to her. "Now, this, this a seal, or is it?"
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"Looks like a seal to me."
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"It is now, just a seal, once a selkie, he used to tell me he was, that we both were. Gods, we were so young."
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"That may be true, but I was, so young, nearly drowned, just twelve, and believed in everything." And she hadn't cared that no one had come looking for her.
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"I nearly drowned once," he said, dreamily. "And I still believe in everythin', ken. That's my sin."
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She dropped the seal back into the box, and heard it clunk against what was still there. Other half-forgotten things.
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