When the Ribbons Dance 03

Sorry for the delay. Between having the stomach virus from hell and then my principal passing away, I don’t have any air left in my lungs. And I got stuck in this over a stupid thing. Ah well.  Thanks everyone for reading.

When the Ribbons Dance – Chapter 03

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When the Ribbons Dance

Chapter 03

Stopio ble rydych chi! Pwy ydych chi?”

Bronwyn scowled at the arrow point, inches from her nose. “HEY!” She dropped her bag and pushed the arrow to the left. “It’s kinda late for a reenactment!”

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In shock

My boss passed away today. It was sudden, unexpected and we still don’t have any details.

I had my differences with her, but she gave me a job when I desperately needed one and she believed in our children – even the rotten ones.

When the Ribbons Dance 02

Chapter 3 might be a few extra days. Being down 3 or 4 days with the stomach virus really put a notch in me.

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Royce? Royce wants your dig?” The static over the line that evening was horrific and Bronwyn strained to hear. The internet connection in this little town was next to nothing and Skyping was impossible. “Why? And who is Madoc?”

The pen was sitting on the nightstand and Bronwyn glared at it as if all the evils of the world – or at least the evils of her world – could be laid on it’s slender column. “Royce’s dig is yielding nothing and it should be coming up roses. Mine should be coughing up splintered pot shards and buried joints and yet yielded this way cool dead person who has been dead for centuries. Therefore, he wants it.” She exhaled loudly. “And Madoc is a Welsh Prince.”

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When the Ribbons Dance 01

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Chapter 01

You threw that pen again, didn’t you?”

If Bronwyn hadn’t known the disembodied voice on the other line, hadn’t been friends since the cradle with the disembodied voice, hadn’t poured her heart and pain and hopes and dreams and spent how many countless nights building tents and Barbie Doll houses with the disembodied voice, her cursing would have been worse. Much worse.

Damn,” she grunted.

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zee reads

I am home with what feels like a gall bladder attack, except I don’t have a gall bladder. Every rude, nasty, thing that can happen to your body is happening to mine for the last 24 hours. I’m posting this little bit and then heading to the Doc in the box.

Sooo, we have…

Zee Reads. A small amount to be sure and I actually FINISHED all three – I’m so proud.

Malice in Maggody

I have I think the entire series. Funny, irreverent. Arly (short for Ariel and no, not named after the mermaid) was living the high life in NYC until her ugly nasty divorce. She returns to her home town Maggody, Arkansas with it’s weird people and tbh, a mayor and city council with questionable ethics. She’s hired to  be chief of police (that would be her and her deputy, that’s it) and has a hate/hate relationship with the mayor. He owns the Quick Screw Grocery and gas station.  It’s all fun and games until a state gubermint worker disappears and Arly’s mom’s best waitress quits to go to the big city (Little Rock) to attend Cosmetology School. Except she’s murdered before she can leave and the state gubermint worker was heading to have papers signed to use Maggody’s favorite swimming hole as a dump.

Mischief

Part 2o of the Maggody series… Robin Buchanan lives in a shack on the side of the mountain. She’s mother to a brood of children the state is more than happy to wash their hands of as long as she ‘promises’ to home school. On a hike across the mountain to tend to her ginseng patch, she discovers someone has pulled up the plants and exchanged them for something more… feel better, kwim? Long story short, Robin doesn’t make it out of the patch alive and her kids are running wild and rampant.

In the meantime, the town has a new psychic, a new high school counselor, and a small group of hippies have taken over the general store.  Of course, none of this could be coincidence, right?

Envision This

The prelude to yet another series. Tubby Dubbonet is a New Orleans attorney, aging, gaining weight, divorced.  One of his clients is an inventor of sorts and looking for investors. Investors are wealthy scallywags and karma is brought down at its best.

I’m heading now to the Doc in the Box and then I hope home with feel good meds and writing all weekend.

When the Ribbons Dance – Prologue

Bronwyn Davidson is an American Archaeologist who lives and breathes Welsh History – especially if that Welsh history is related to the myth of Madoc the Explorer. With an ugly divorce behind her and a year imposed teaching assignment in front of her, she takes a final walk-through of her now closed dig that has a lot of people excited. A dig that yielded a 1000 year old Druid burial.

But unbeknownst to her, she’s getting ready to meet that Druid.

As well as the Welsh Warrior who has been riding her dreams…

A/N – due to the vagueness of some dates, I’ve had to fudge a bit here and there. Or guess.

When the Ribbons Dance

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Prologue

Somewhere in Ceredigion, Deheubarth, Cymru

Medieval Wales

Late Fall 1170 A.D.

The fog in the early morning air was particularly succulent.

While succulent wasn’t a term the warrior would normally use to define the miasma, it seemed to sum up the feelings he pondered over and over until his head throbbed. Things bothered him, worried him, kept him up all night.

No. Things didn’t bother him. She bothered him.

The mist swirled around his boots; gentle, lacy tendrils fingering its way through the lacings and up under his wrap. If this aggravated him, he didn’t show it. Instead he watched as the settlement slowly came to life in the early dawn. Low voices began to ebb from the covered openings of homes; to his left, a baby began to cry.

That one would be Deidre’s get. A girl rumored to have his eyes. Deidre started that rumor, fueled it with flame from aged wood, but both knew he had not lain with her since that drunken night 11 moons…

He shook his leonine head, to rid himself of cloying, unhealthy thoughts. No, best not think about it. He was seeking comfort; she gave him it to him. It dawned on him she might come from her hut, find him close by and this was enough to get him moving again. A faint glow came from the old Druid’s hut, so he headed towards the dwelling.

Aelhaearn looked up from the central fire as the animal skin that served as a door and screen was pushed aside. “Meaurig,” he spat in feigned ill humor, “you should learn to warn a man before walking into his home.” He threw something into the flames and watched the sparks rise towards the smoke hole. “You could have interrupted me in the throes of making some wench scream for joy.” He nodded to the not-quite woman crouched in the shadows. “Glenys, be a good lass and fetch four eggs from the henhouse. Two for me, two for our unexpected, rude guest.”

“What? And be graced by the sight of your bony, pasty arse-cheeks, flapping in the air?” Meaurig leaned over and touched the girl on the shoulder as she slipped around him. “Get two eggs for yourself and put on a cloak. ‘Tis chilly out.” Her mouth opened in protest. “If your grandfather as much as raises an eyebrow for you taking two eggs for yourself, tell me and I’ll read his entrails before the next battle!” Meaurig winked at her deviously, catching her grin as she sped through the entrance way.

“You’ll spoil her.” Aelhaearn removed the pot on the fire and replaced it with a flat sheet of hammered iron.

“You already have.” Meaurig settled down to the man’s right. “It’s past time for her to be tending her own hearth.”

“I know it, you know it, but who will tend mine?” More dust was thrown into the coals, causing more sparks and colors to flare. A strange, unusual scent filled the air. “I wanted to talk to you-“

“No.”

“It’s past time you found someone to tend to your hearth.”

“No!!”

The old man sighed, sorrow etching his face. “Adaryn has been gone how many moons? Seasons?”

“Too many.” Meaurig whispered. “Five summer solstices,” he muttered a little louder. For a short time, the only sound was the wind slowing churning the dirt outside.

“Meaurig,” the old man began gently, “the usurpers over the mountains won’t be returning her after all this time-“

“Shh!” Meaurig stopped the sentence, the thought with a labored hiss and a chop of his hand. “I know she’s been gone too long and won’t be returned, if ever.” It was quiet in the dwelling for a few moments. “Even if she is returned… who knows where her mind will be.” Both of his hands dropped below his knees. “I don’t know who’s worse. Believing she is dead or the British soldiers, using her for sport. I pray she is dead, rather than…” His voice drifted off and he looked up, scrutinizing the Druid with the stare of a hawk. “Will we ever know peace?”

The old man picked up the thought. “They say the woman of the blacksmith in Mynyw was returned and he still can’t look at her without her screaming.”

Meaurig nodded sullenly. He knew Tudri and his woman; had seen her the last time they had traded. He didn’t recognize her, knotted hair and crazy, glazed eyes. She screamed at everything. The thought of his Adaryn, his little bird, being that way; he was ashamed that he admitted it out loud, he wished her dead than suffering the fate Tudri’s wife suffered. He realized Aelhaearn was still looking at him intently. “I’ll become bonded and married in my own time, old man! And not to Deidre” Aelhaearn started to chuckle, thin bony shoulders shaking. “Or Glenys!”

It was a low growl and Aelhaearn raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to suggest you take her.” He frowned at the shapes being made by the smoke and reached for a sack made of moleskin. “Niclas, the tanner has an apprentice – Arvel – and they’ve been seen whispering in the shadows of the early evening.”

“Whispering,” Meaurig chuckled. “Such innocence.”

“Which is something you’re not.” The old man pointed with a gnarled finger, “and she is.” He shoved his hand back in the moleskin pouch and pulled out an aging pear. “He will be good for her, keep her fairly well.” He pointed again. “He’ll have a trade.” The Druid inspected the pear, clearly not liking what he saw. “You’ve come for a reason. Tell me quickly before Glenys returns.” He took a bite from the darkened, wrinkled fruit and made a face.

Meaurig inhaled once. “There is change in the air. I can’t sleep.”

“You want a sleeping powder?” The old man’s voice bordered on incredulous. “What am I?” he muttered under his breath, bits of sour pear splattering the front of his robe. “A witch? A wise woman? Next he’ll be asking for a potion to keep him erect!” he grunted more to himself than to the hulking figure squatting next to him.

“I heard that!” Meaurig threw his hands to the roots of his hair, pulling the long, dark locks away from his face. “Damn you. She keeps me awake.”

A smirk graced the Druid’s stone-carved features. “If she keeps you awake, I suggest you find a more peaceful sleeping partner.” The half eaten pear was thrown in the embers. Another scent added to the air…

“Not that. She keeps me awake. Her… voice.” For all of Meaurig’s height, he slumped low. “I’m hearing her. I hear cries and her whispering in my head.”

Aelhaearn munched on what mouthful of his pear was in his mouth, sucking the meat from between his teeth. “She comes.”

“So you say,” Meaurig snarled. “So you say. You say she will save us; rescue us from those that will encroach upon our lands and our beliefs. Our holy days are drying up, overtaken by the Christ followers. When will she come?”

The old man chewed the last bite slowly and dipped once again from the endless depths of the moleskin. He swirled the powders in the palm of his hand, spitting phlegm and masticated pear skins in it before throwing the mixture on the coals. “Owain is dead.”

Meaurig’s gasp was loud. “What? That cannot be!”

Aelhaearn nodded morosely. “Owain, King of all Wales is dead and Cristiana’s sons scramble for position.” He took a long, crooked finger and drew in the ashes on the outer edge of the fire. “No one is safe until they have what they want.”

Owain cannot be dead!” His eyes darted back and forth in the sparks of the fire. “How do you know this? There has been no messenger?”

The Druid glanced at the warrior from the side of his sockets. “Question me? Have you known me to be wrong?”

Meaurig shuddered. “Never.” He bowed his head. “If Owain is dead, Hywel will be king. It was decided long ago.”

And if Dafydd and Rhodri decide otherwise, who will enforce Owain’s will? Certainly not his queen.”

There will be war. Brother against brother. Owain had too many sons.” He put his head in his hands. “And I have a woman in my head! When will she go away?”

Aelhaearn’s granddaughter returned, pushing the side of the animal skin away, eggs bundled gently in her skirt. As the breeze from the opened hide stirred up the smoke and embers, a mist of many hues rose from the fire.

When the ribbons dance in the late fall sky, she will come.”

Happy Halloween!

And are we ready for the mass invasion of small goblins and princesses and ghosts and witches?

I’m rather disturbed by yet another large publication posting an article about ‘cultural appropriation’? Basically, if your little princess is white, she can’t dress up as Moana, because God forbid our daughters want to grow up to be strong, independent and intelligent.

So I suppose I should tell my princesses of color that they can’t be Snow White or Cinderella or Elsa or whoever they want to be? NEVER! Bite me!

And there we have my politically insensitive rant of the year. Trust me there are other things I could rant about. Believe me when I swear I chose the rant that would be least offensive.

For those who missed it, Nemo updated pretty much everywhere. Sometime tomorrow evening or Thursday, I’ll start posting my Nanowritmo. It’s another time travel but really working my historical research chops with this one. I’m aiming for 50K words. I’ve done 45K in 5 weeks so we’ll see… starting them and ending them are easy for me – it’s the middle that messes me up. Oh well, we’ll see.

I received VERY good news this morning. The moving team came through my room and informed me that as long as my things were in a BOX or the larger things – like the instruments and the cubbies – were openly labeled, they WILL move them. Initially we were told that we were limited to 2 boxes and everything else, we’d have to move. Needless to say, my garage is starting to fill up and now I don’t have to take anything else EXCEPT my record albums! SCORE!!!! I am most relieved.

I’ve been tagged by Guylty for some sort of blogger thingamadahchee. A quick glimpse –

My own questions for my nominees

  1. If you weren’t living where you are living now, where would you like to live? With Richard
  2. What’s the last thing you bought that made you really happy? Francis Dollarhyde’s shorty short shorts
  3. If you could dress RA/your favourite artist, what would you put him in? I would undress him. He does not need clothes.
  4. What would you like to receive as a Christmas gift? Richard

See, that was easy.

Okay, those aren’t my REAL answers. I will do those tonight. And there are more questions besides those 4 – so there ya go!

It is time for lunch! Yeppers!!!

IT’S Guy Day!

And my day is over. Of course, just before I leave one of my coworkers complains of stuffiness and achy pains and wouldn’t you know it, by the time I got home, I was stuffed up and feeling meh meh meh. So I’m brewing hot tea and getting ready to get in to jammies.

High tomorrow – 80.

high Sunday – 62

Welcome to fall in the south!

So Guy anyone???

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