The druid's voice sings out! Tine cocks his head to one side, then bellows loudly into the awed silence. I pull gently on the rope and lead him forward, to stand in line behind the small herd of horses.

I have brought a little pouch to cast upon the fire. It contains some flowers, long dried and withered, that I plucked last summer for a love who went away before I had a chance to give these to her. Now they belong to Brighid and perhaps I will forget the lass more easily now.

"Queen of Kine, Help of Herders," I mutter quietly, "Keep safe our calves and let our cows have rich pastures for their grazing this year."