Gwenllian smoothed her fingers across the filigree threads, newly set, against the burnished silver cuff and absently wiped the dusty, glinting swarf from her work table. Tears fell as she stroked the soft, pink scar running down her face, recalling the scandalous lies and trite excuses she’d offered in his protection.
Now she hid herself away in the croft on the banks of Afon Caer and waited.
A mewling cry came from the small bedroom, and Gwenllian pulled her mind back from its dreams and stared up at the full, yellow moon. She snuffed out her candles, grabbed the annealed bangle and hurried towards the cry, wiping her tears of hiraeth as she moved.
She gently cwtched her daughter, placing the silver bracelet around the babe’s tiny wrist. “Ah, cariad, not long now…” She grabbed the rifle, propped by the cot, and loaded the silver bullet. “Now let him come…”