malory towers fic | complex | chapter 9
Title: Complex, Chapter 9 (Chapter 1 here)
Fandom: Malory Towers
Pairing: Sally/Darrell.
Rating: None, really. PG for suggestiveness?
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Enid Blyton, or her estate or publishers or whatever, not me.
Words: 2600-ish.
Spoilers: The whole Malory Towers series.
Notes: Malory Towers post-fic, with Darrell, Sally, Alicia and Betty at St Andrews university. No blurb for this one, just read it!
Chapter 9, concerning unresolved tensions
"Darrell, you know I like a nice long walk as much as anyone, but where are we going?"
Darrell turned to Sally and grinned, linking arms with her and beginning to swing the bag in her other hand back and forth as they walked along the gently sloped, tree-lined path. "I think we're almost there."
Their first week in St Andrews had disappeared very quickly, what with class registration, first lectures, meetings with tutors and inevitable losing of one's way between classes taking up most of their days and the various dances and club meetings and so on that were taking place to welcome the new students to the university filling their nights, and before they knew it, it was Saturday.
Darrell of course took great pleasure in walking and was keen to explore the local area, and had quizzed Stuart, her academic father, on the topic some days previously. He had suggested Dunino Den.
"There's this little village about four miles out of town," he had told her, "where you can take a path through some woodlands to a little kirk, and opposite the church is the strangest place - a sort of, er, Celtic spot of worship, you might call it. Here, I'll draw you a map..."
And so, armed with her little map, Darrell had set off with Sally on that lovely Saturday morning in September, and it was just about lunchtime that they sighted the church up ahead, on their left.
"How pretty," Sally said as they reached the neat sandstone building, lined on either side with trees, with a small, well-kept graveyard to the back. But Darrell was leading them to the right.
"This way."
On the other side of the path from the church they found that there was a gap in the treeline, the grassy bank giving way to solid rock underfoot, ending with a short but sheer drop down to the small river, or 'burn', below. In the rock, near the edge, was an obviously man-made hollow, like a crude well but only perhaps a foot or so deep, its bottom lined with moss.
"But whatever is it for?" Sally had exclaimed, her tone a little hushed in her curiosity. On closer inspection there also seemed to be a shallow footprint in the stone by the hollow, but they couldn't be sure that the shape wasn't simple coincidence.
Darrell had no idea what the 'well' was for - Stuart hadn't known. "Come on, there are steps to the side here down to the bank."
The steps were carved into the rock, and were mossy also, and slippery, but the pair made their way down without incident. After stopping briefly to admire a small knotwork carving on the side of the rock, they emerged into the clearing - a sparsely wooded area of the riverbank, sheltered by the rocks and very tranquil in atmosphere. The clearing was very pretty and quite unspoiled, but for the rather notable fact that the trees by the riverbank were hung with dozens of scraps of material - all kinds, all colours, some patterned and some not.
"Stuart says the 'clootie druids' leave them," Darrell said, finding that she, too, was now near whispering, feeling almost reverent. "Something to do with the Celtic religion - he says they're left for Brigid, who's the goddess of eloquence, wisdom, healing and crafts and all sorts, sort of like Athena in Greek myth, I think."
"Eloquence and wisdom, eh?" Sally said with a smile, linking her arm once more with Darrell's. "Sounds like someone we know..."
Darrell had chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm sure you mean you," she said. "Wise, eloquent Sally... ouch!" - For Sally had hit her friend lightly on the arm.
"You know perfectly well who I meant," Sally admonished. "Shall we have lunch here?"*
The nights continued cold, and the days long and active - plenty of chores around the house and garden, long walks in the beautiful Kentish countryside by day, boardgames and jigsaw puzzles in the evenings, and regular lectures from Darrell's father about studying technique and about getting the best out of university which, though the girls had planned on taking a break from studying for a couple of days, had them back at their books on the very first evening.
"He's right of course," Darrell had said at the time with a groan as they settled down to opposite ends of the large leather-topped desk in the library, "but I do wish he'd given us a few days before making that speech.."
Sally had only favoured Darrell with a gentle smile. It was so nice to see her smiling that way at her again that Darrell had quite forgotten her frustrations, and got stuck into the reading for her essay without further complaint.
Their nights continued the same as the first night, more or less. They would get into bed together, both rather nervous (though of course neither would admit it), and they'd keep a careful, polite distance from one another, uncomfortable though it was, until they had drifted off to sleep. In the morning they would waken sometimes facing in the same direction, sometimes towards one another, but always closer, pressed together, limbs intertwined.
Darrell could not speak for Sally's part in this, of course, but she knew that when on the third night she'd woken in the dark, perhaps due to some creak somewhere in the house or maybe a sound from the garden (the chickens or somesuch), she had taken the opportunity to pull the still-sleeping Sally into her arms, who had complied with a contented sigh that had filled Darrell with a sensation of longing that she would swear she had never felt before in her life. It had taken her some time to get back to sleep, her mind and heart racing in tandem, more confused than even before. Oh, why this now?
But of course, Darrell knew the answer to that. Sometimes it isn't until our mind is opened to an idea and given the chance to quietly reasses its surroundings, without us really thinking about it, that we realise what it is that we actually want. It seemed to Darrell a little like when she was smaller and she would never think to use the garden swing, or the piano, say, until Felicity was playing on it, and then, suddenly, she would be overcome with the urge to swing or play! Her father used to chastise her for insisting that her younger sister vacate for her, and rightly so, for it was rather unfair when Felicity had thought of it first.
Does that really apply here, though? Darrell found herself thinking now. Alicia 'thought of it first' and so now, though the time we spend together makes me feel guilty and a little cold inside, I can't simply throw her over for Sally's sake?
It seemed a little ridiculous to apply the simple logic of their childhood to such a complex situation. But then, Darrell had no idea how to go about resolving something like this as an adult. Poor Darrell! If only it had occurred to her that what mattered was not whether she should 'throw Alicia over' because of her growing - or at least changing - affection for Sally, but whether she should be dallying with Alicia at all in this way when it made her feel so bad. But her experiences with the quick-witted, exciting Alicia were so new as to be entirely diverting and intoxicating, at least when she was with her. This had always been the way with Darrell and Alicia, of course, since the very first term they met - she was wonderful and daring and so refreshing at the time, and then later, for one reason or another, Darrell would come to regret letting herself get so distracted by her.
For Sally, this holiday was proving to be at once wonderful and nigh-unbearable. For the first time in months she had Darrell all to herself, they were as close as ever they'd been, but although she wished nothing more than to keep waking up next to Darrell every morning she couldn't help but wonder whether she was just torturing herself needlessly. After all, when they returned to St Andrews would things not simply go back to where they were? Separate beds, increasingly separate lives? Could she bear that slow separation a second time?
Sally knew that it was she that had changed, of course, and not Darrell. But that hardly mattered - after all, if she drew back and closed off before, how was she to prevent from doing so again? Without really understanding what was happening between them, even for her own part, how was she to stop it?
There was little time for such worries, though, even for the introspective Sally Hope. Her mother and sister demanded a great deal of her attention, and she gave it willingly, having missed them both terribly. The days flew by, and in no time they found themselves on Christmas Eve, making preparations for the next day.
The tree trimming had been a fun affair, if rather more complicated than usual with seven people rather than four taking turns to place decorations on the large Scots Pine that Darrell's father had brought home and, with Darrell's help, wedged securely into its stand. Sally's little sister had continued to be very excited to be spending Christmas with so many people, and basked in all the attention she was getting as the youngest child there. It seemed to have made Felicity feel quite mature, for, already a helpful girl by nature, she had gone out of her way to be useful this year, taking over much of the table-setting and running and fetching duties that Darrell would usually have found herself performing.
This was perhaps just as well, as Sally and Darrell were working on their essays even tonight, and both had disappeared into Mr Rivers' study from the end of dinner until they were called through to say goodnight to a very excited Daffy, so over-tired from her long day that she had grown quite tetchy and was determined not to sleep so that she might see Father Christmas arrive. Darrell, always soft-hearted with her friend's little sister, was altogether too indulgent of Daffy's whims to be of much help in getting her to sleep, and so she left the task to Sally, instead heading downstairs to help with the tasks that could only be performed once Daphne was in bed - the final presents around the tree and, of course, filling the stockings that hung on the mantlepiece for each and every one of them.
"Oh, Darrell!" she was greeted as she entered the drawing room - Felicity sounded almost surprised that she had finally emerged from the study, and very pleased. "Yes, you can come in, we've done yours and Sally's stockings already. Unless you have anything you want to add to hers?"
Darrell shook her head. "Her main present from me's under the tree already. I have another little one upstairs but I'll give it to her myself." Though she had decided some days ago that she would do this, Darrell felt a little funny saying it. Why would she want to give Sally a present in private? She wasn't even sure herself. Neither Felicity nor any of the parents seemed to find it strange, however, as none remarked on it. Her father only asked how her studies were going, prompting her mother to shoot him a warning glance and ask if she'd like some tea, inviting her to come help make it.
By the time Sally appeared downstairs all the preparations had been made. She reassured her anxious mother that Daphne was finally asleep, and they all settled down with their fresh cups of tea, Darrell and Felicity and her mother going back to the jigsaw they'd begun earlier that day, Mr Rivers to his newspaper, and Sally and her mother sitting together, discussing in their characteristically soft tones their plans following Christmas.
Unusually, Felicity was the first to go to retire, citing their busy day as her reason but secretly almost as excited for the following day as Daffy, and eager to go to sleep early to hasten its arrival. Darrell and Sally were not long behind her, however, both keen, as every night, to find some time alone together. As their comfort with one another slowly regrew they had taken once more to carrying on murmured conversations as they lay in bed in the dark, just as they had when they were younger, and for both girls it had become one of their favourite parts of the day, for all their slight physical unease.
Tonight, as they readied for bed, Darrell, already clad in her nightgown with tomorrow's clothes laid out, seemed to hesitate by her case. To Sally's curious expression she grinned sheepishly in answer.
"I have, er, a Christmas present for you. Not your actual present because that's downstairs, it's sort of an... extra, little thing. But I'm not sure whether perhaps you'd like it tonight rather than tomorrow, just, I don't know, just because."
Sally was intrigued. Why wouldn't Darrell leave any present for her with all the rest down around the tree? "Well, I don't mind," she said with a little shrug. Darrell seemed to think another moment, and then fetched a small, flat parcel from a pocket of her suitcase and brought it across to where Sally sat on the bed, sitting down next to her.
Now extremely curious, Sally lost no time in unwrapping the tiny present to reveal what was obviously the box for some kind of jewelery. She opened it to reveal a small silver pendant, the design of which was obviously inspired by traditional Celtic artwork. It was a simple knotwork pattern with a longer tendril to the top and bottom, making it a long, slim shape. It hung on a fine silver chain.
"I was just looking in the window of one of the little shops in town the week before we left," Darrell hastened to explain, sensing Sally's speechlessness and trying to fill the strange silence. "And it had a little card by it calling it 'Brigid's Flame' and, well, it made me think of that weekend when we walked to Dunino - do you remember? With the little... Sally? Oh, Sally, what's wrong?"
For Sally, completely unexpectedly, had begun to cry, just a little, her shoulders trembling slightly as a tear dropped with a tiny patter onto the jewelery box cradled in her hands. Utterly confused and most concerned, Darrell did not hesitate for more than a second before wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders and pulling her close, the pendant falling, unheeded, to the floor as Sally turned towards her and into her embrace. Darrell wasn't sure what reaction to her gift she had hoped for or expected, but she was quite certain that it wasn't this.
Perhaps due to Darrell's grounding presence, and her warm, strong arms about her, Sally seemed to get control of herself quite quickly, drawing back only a minute or so later with dry, if slightly brighter than normal eyes. Her voice only slightly shaky as she tried to explain herself. "I was just remembering that first week, when everything was simple, and lovely, and it all made sense and... Lord, Darrell, it's all such a mess, I'm a mess, I don't know what's going on with me..."
"What's 'going on'?" Darrell frowned, lifting a hand to Sally's chin, gently tipping her bowed head up to meet her gaze. "Sally, I don't understand..."
But she did understand. In the look that passed between them at that moment, Darrell finally did understand, all at once, and the realisation almost knocked all the air out of her lungs.
Darrell Rivers was never one to waste time once she knew what was to be done. And so a second later, her lips were on Sally's.
To be continued.
*Dunino exists, by the way. The likelihood is that the hollow is a baptismal font or more probably a 'healing well', which would explain the clooties and trinkets in the trees as it's common to decorate trees near a healing well. 'Clootie' is simply Scots for cloth, and is also commonly used to describe an old-fashioned type of Christmas pudding made in a cloth called a 'clootie dumpling'.
NOTE: The pendant description is based on one I googled. 'Brigid's flame' is not a particularly common piece of Celtic iconography, although you see it here and there, Brigid's Cross being much better known.
Fandom: Malory Towers
Pairing: Sally/Darrell.
Rating: None, really. PG for suggestiveness?
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Enid Blyton, or her estate or publishers or whatever, not me.
Words: 2600-ish.
Spoilers: The whole Malory Towers series.
Notes: Malory Towers post-fic, with Darrell, Sally, Alicia and Betty at St Andrews university. No blurb for this one, just read it!
Chapter 9, concerning unresolved tensions
"Darrell, you know I like a nice long walk as much as anyone, but where are we going?"
Darrell turned to Sally and grinned, linking arms with her and beginning to swing the bag in her other hand back and forth as they walked along the gently sloped, tree-lined path. "I think we're almost there."
Their first week in St Andrews had disappeared very quickly, what with class registration, first lectures, meetings with tutors and inevitable losing of one's way between classes taking up most of their days and the various dances and club meetings and so on that were taking place to welcome the new students to the university filling their nights, and before they knew it, it was Saturday.
Darrell of course took great pleasure in walking and was keen to explore the local area, and had quizzed Stuart, her academic father, on the topic some days previously. He had suggested Dunino Den.
"There's this little village about four miles out of town," he had told her, "where you can take a path through some woodlands to a little kirk, and opposite the church is the strangest place - a sort of, er, Celtic spot of worship, you might call it. Here, I'll draw you a map..."
And so, armed with her little map, Darrell had set off with Sally on that lovely Saturday morning in September, and it was just about lunchtime that they sighted the church up ahead, on their left.
"How pretty," Sally said as they reached the neat sandstone building, lined on either side with trees, with a small, well-kept graveyard to the back. But Darrell was leading them to the right.
"This way."
On the other side of the path from the church they found that there was a gap in the treeline, the grassy bank giving way to solid rock underfoot, ending with a short but sheer drop down to the small river, or 'burn', below. In the rock, near the edge, was an obviously man-made hollow, like a crude well but only perhaps a foot or so deep, its bottom lined with moss.
"But whatever is it for?" Sally had exclaimed, her tone a little hushed in her curiosity. On closer inspection there also seemed to be a shallow footprint in the stone by the hollow, but they couldn't be sure that the shape wasn't simple coincidence.
Darrell had no idea what the 'well' was for - Stuart hadn't known. "Come on, there are steps to the side here down to the bank."
The steps were carved into the rock, and were mossy also, and slippery, but the pair made their way down without incident. After stopping briefly to admire a small knotwork carving on the side of the rock, they emerged into the clearing - a sparsely wooded area of the riverbank, sheltered by the rocks and very tranquil in atmosphere. The clearing was very pretty and quite unspoiled, but for the rather notable fact that the trees by the riverbank were hung with dozens of scraps of material - all kinds, all colours, some patterned and some not.
"Stuart says the 'clootie druids' leave them," Darrell said, finding that she, too, was now near whispering, feeling almost reverent. "Something to do with the Celtic religion - he says they're left for Brigid, who's the goddess of eloquence, wisdom, healing and crafts and all sorts, sort of like Athena in Greek myth, I think."
"Eloquence and wisdom, eh?" Sally said with a smile, linking her arm once more with Darrell's. "Sounds like someone we know..."
Darrell had chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm sure you mean you," she said. "Wise, eloquent Sally... ouch!" - For Sally had hit her friend lightly on the arm.
"You know perfectly well who I meant," Sally admonished. "Shall we have lunch here?"*
The nights continued cold, and the days long and active - plenty of chores around the house and garden, long walks in the beautiful Kentish countryside by day, boardgames and jigsaw puzzles in the evenings, and regular lectures from Darrell's father about studying technique and about getting the best out of university which, though the girls had planned on taking a break from studying for a couple of days, had them back at their books on the very first evening.
"He's right of course," Darrell had said at the time with a groan as they settled down to opposite ends of the large leather-topped desk in the library, "but I do wish he'd given us a few days before making that speech.."
Sally had only favoured Darrell with a gentle smile. It was so nice to see her smiling that way at her again that Darrell had quite forgotten her frustrations, and got stuck into the reading for her essay without further complaint.
Their nights continued the same as the first night, more or less. They would get into bed together, both rather nervous (though of course neither would admit it), and they'd keep a careful, polite distance from one another, uncomfortable though it was, until they had drifted off to sleep. In the morning they would waken sometimes facing in the same direction, sometimes towards one another, but always closer, pressed together, limbs intertwined.
Darrell could not speak for Sally's part in this, of course, but she knew that when on the third night she'd woken in the dark, perhaps due to some creak somewhere in the house or maybe a sound from the garden (the chickens or somesuch), she had taken the opportunity to pull the still-sleeping Sally into her arms, who had complied with a contented sigh that had filled Darrell with a sensation of longing that she would swear she had never felt before in her life. It had taken her some time to get back to sleep, her mind and heart racing in tandem, more confused than even before. Oh, why this now?
But of course, Darrell knew the answer to that. Sometimes it isn't until our mind is opened to an idea and given the chance to quietly reasses its surroundings, without us really thinking about it, that we realise what it is that we actually want. It seemed to Darrell a little like when she was smaller and she would never think to use the garden swing, or the piano, say, until Felicity was playing on it, and then, suddenly, she would be overcome with the urge to swing or play! Her father used to chastise her for insisting that her younger sister vacate for her, and rightly so, for it was rather unfair when Felicity had thought of it first.
Does that really apply here, though? Darrell found herself thinking now. Alicia 'thought of it first' and so now, though the time we spend together makes me feel guilty and a little cold inside, I can't simply throw her over for Sally's sake?
It seemed a little ridiculous to apply the simple logic of their childhood to such a complex situation. But then, Darrell had no idea how to go about resolving something like this as an adult. Poor Darrell! If only it had occurred to her that what mattered was not whether she should 'throw Alicia over' because of her growing - or at least changing - affection for Sally, but whether she should be dallying with Alicia at all in this way when it made her feel so bad. But her experiences with the quick-witted, exciting Alicia were so new as to be entirely diverting and intoxicating, at least when she was with her. This had always been the way with Darrell and Alicia, of course, since the very first term they met - she was wonderful and daring and so refreshing at the time, and then later, for one reason or another, Darrell would come to regret letting herself get so distracted by her.
For Sally, this holiday was proving to be at once wonderful and nigh-unbearable. For the first time in months she had Darrell all to herself, they were as close as ever they'd been, but although she wished nothing more than to keep waking up next to Darrell every morning she couldn't help but wonder whether she was just torturing herself needlessly. After all, when they returned to St Andrews would things not simply go back to where they were? Separate beds, increasingly separate lives? Could she bear that slow separation a second time?
Sally knew that it was she that had changed, of course, and not Darrell. But that hardly mattered - after all, if she drew back and closed off before, how was she to prevent from doing so again? Without really understanding what was happening between them, even for her own part, how was she to stop it?
There was little time for such worries, though, even for the introspective Sally Hope. Her mother and sister demanded a great deal of her attention, and she gave it willingly, having missed them both terribly. The days flew by, and in no time they found themselves on Christmas Eve, making preparations for the next day.
The tree trimming had been a fun affair, if rather more complicated than usual with seven people rather than four taking turns to place decorations on the large Scots Pine that Darrell's father had brought home and, with Darrell's help, wedged securely into its stand. Sally's little sister had continued to be very excited to be spending Christmas with so many people, and basked in all the attention she was getting as the youngest child there. It seemed to have made Felicity feel quite mature, for, already a helpful girl by nature, she had gone out of her way to be useful this year, taking over much of the table-setting and running and fetching duties that Darrell would usually have found herself performing.
This was perhaps just as well, as Sally and Darrell were working on their essays even tonight, and both had disappeared into Mr Rivers' study from the end of dinner until they were called through to say goodnight to a very excited Daffy, so over-tired from her long day that she had grown quite tetchy and was determined not to sleep so that she might see Father Christmas arrive. Darrell, always soft-hearted with her friend's little sister, was altogether too indulgent of Daffy's whims to be of much help in getting her to sleep, and so she left the task to Sally, instead heading downstairs to help with the tasks that could only be performed once Daphne was in bed - the final presents around the tree and, of course, filling the stockings that hung on the mantlepiece for each and every one of them.
"Oh, Darrell!" she was greeted as she entered the drawing room - Felicity sounded almost surprised that she had finally emerged from the study, and very pleased. "Yes, you can come in, we've done yours and Sally's stockings already. Unless you have anything you want to add to hers?"
Darrell shook her head. "Her main present from me's under the tree already. I have another little one upstairs but I'll give it to her myself." Though she had decided some days ago that she would do this, Darrell felt a little funny saying it. Why would she want to give Sally a present in private? She wasn't even sure herself. Neither Felicity nor any of the parents seemed to find it strange, however, as none remarked on it. Her father only asked how her studies were going, prompting her mother to shoot him a warning glance and ask if she'd like some tea, inviting her to come help make it.
By the time Sally appeared downstairs all the preparations had been made. She reassured her anxious mother that Daphne was finally asleep, and they all settled down with their fresh cups of tea, Darrell and Felicity and her mother going back to the jigsaw they'd begun earlier that day, Mr Rivers to his newspaper, and Sally and her mother sitting together, discussing in their characteristically soft tones their plans following Christmas.
Unusually, Felicity was the first to go to retire, citing their busy day as her reason but secretly almost as excited for the following day as Daffy, and eager to go to sleep early to hasten its arrival. Darrell and Sally were not long behind her, however, both keen, as every night, to find some time alone together. As their comfort with one another slowly regrew they had taken once more to carrying on murmured conversations as they lay in bed in the dark, just as they had when they were younger, and for both girls it had become one of their favourite parts of the day, for all their slight physical unease.
Tonight, as they readied for bed, Darrell, already clad in her nightgown with tomorrow's clothes laid out, seemed to hesitate by her case. To Sally's curious expression she grinned sheepishly in answer.
"I have, er, a Christmas present for you. Not your actual present because that's downstairs, it's sort of an... extra, little thing. But I'm not sure whether perhaps you'd like it tonight rather than tomorrow, just, I don't know, just because."
Sally was intrigued. Why wouldn't Darrell leave any present for her with all the rest down around the tree? "Well, I don't mind," she said with a little shrug. Darrell seemed to think another moment, and then fetched a small, flat parcel from a pocket of her suitcase and brought it across to where Sally sat on the bed, sitting down next to her.
Now extremely curious, Sally lost no time in unwrapping the tiny present to reveal what was obviously the box for some kind of jewelery. She opened it to reveal a small silver pendant, the design of which was obviously inspired by traditional Celtic artwork. It was a simple knotwork pattern with a longer tendril to the top and bottom, making it a long, slim shape. It hung on a fine silver chain.
"I was just looking in the window of one of the little shops in town the week before we left," Darrell hastened to explain, sensing Sally's speechlessness and trying to fill the strange silence. "And it had a little card by it calling it 'Brigid's Flame' and, well, it made me think of that weekend when we walked to Dunino - do you remember? With the little... Sally? Oh, Sally, what's wrong?"
For Sally, completely unexpectedly, had begun to cry, just a little, her shoulders trembling slightly as a tear dropped with a tiny patter onto the jewelery box cradled in her hands. Utterly confused and most concerned, Darrell did not hesitate for more than a second before wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders and pulling her close, the pendant falling, unheeded, to the floor as Sally turned towards her and into her embrace. Darrell wasn't sure what reaction to her gift she had hoped for or expected, but she was quite certain that it wasn't this.
Perhaps due to Darrell's grounding presence, and her warm, strong arms about her, Sally seemed to get control of herself quite quickly, drawing back only a minute or so later with dry, if slightly brighter than normal eyes. Her voice only slightly shaky as she tried to explain herself. "I was just remembering that first week, when everything was simple, and lovely, and it all made sense and... Lord, Darrell, it's all such a mess, I'm a mess, I don't know what's going on with me..."
"What's 'going on'?" Darrell frowned, lifting a hand to Sally's chin, gently tipping her bowed head up to meet her gaze. "Sally, I don't understand..."
But she did understand. In the look that passed between them at that moment, Darrell finally did understand, all at once, and the realisation almost knocked all the air out of her lungs.
Darrell Rivers was never one to waste time once she knew what was to be done. And so a second later, her lips were on Sally's.
To be continued.
*Dunino exists, by the way. The likelihood is that the hollow is a baptismal font or more probably a 'healing well', which would explain the clooties and trinkets in the trees as it's common to decorate trees near a healing well. 'Clootie' is simply Scots for cloth, and is also commonly used to describe an old-fashioned type of Christmas pudding made in a cloth called a 'clootie dumpling'.
NOTE: The pendant description is based on one I googled. 'Brigid's flame' is not a particularly common piece of Celtic iconography, although you see it here and there, Brigid's Cross being much better known.