“My lord! There is a matter that requires the authority of the brehons and yourself. A freeman has just been slain by a brigand." The words of the royal guard crashed into the midst of the assembly like a storm tossed wave upon the rocky shore. They incited a flurry of activity amongst the nobles and presently, most of those in the room swept out again, like water returning to the sea, to deal with the matter. Left behind in their wake were a disheartened storyteller, a black haired imp and a serious looking druid.

The Seannachie sighed and sank down to the floor; for once the boy was glad not to be the center of attention. Truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling at the top of his game when he was hauled into the bird’s nest. While Balwee stole the show, a part of the lad’s mind was preoccupied, wondering where his faithful little puppy was. It wasn’t like Caoimhe to miss one of his stories. The words of the guard had filled him with a sense of foreboding. Where was she? What if something had happened to her? It was getting late and she was sure to be hungry by now…

“Hey Sproutlet!” The Seannachie called to Balwee.

The little imp answered with a look of indignation. Stupid oaf! Did he not know that his mother was a Cruthini princess and his father was a fili companion to She Who Strikes Fear? Sproutlet was certainly NOT how someone of his station should be addressed!

Blithely ignoring the look, the Seannachie continued, “I need your help.”

“Yes, you do!” Balwee answered him gravely. “You’re a terrible storyteller!”

“I am not!” Despite his frettings over Caoimhe, there was enough fight left in Ruad to fire off one salvo. “I’d have done a sight bit better without a certain little helper, who shall remain nameless, but we all know he’s covered from head to foot in berry juice!”

Irony was lost on Balwee, who just solemnly shook his head back and forth, as if to say Terrible, simply terrible!

“I haven’t seen Caoimhe in quite some time. I’m worried that something bad might have happened to her, especially hearing that someone’s been killed. Is your sister here too? And did your ravens come with you?”

“I don’t know where my sister is right now,” the little moon calf answered him. “She might be hiding somewhere, counting. She can count really high, you know! And my ravens always come with me, wherever I go. You know that!”

“Well then,” the Seannachie said. “Do you think you could get them to help me find my lost little puppy and your sister?”

“They’re good at finding things!”

“Allright, Sproutlet, shall we hasten after the host of the king and look for the girls? But,” his voice trailed off to a whisper as his eyes traveled over to where the Druid was standing there, looking disapprovingly at them. “Think you can get rid of your babysitter so we can go about our business in peace?”