Of Thatch and Vine

Chapter One

The bustle of Dublin welcomed Brigid off the tarmac and even though asphalt and city life surrounded her, she could instantly feel the ancient magic of the land. She had visited the land of her ancestors once before, as a small girl, but the sizzle of magic was exactly as she remembered it. Sparking underneath her skin and setting her heart beat quicker.

Finding transport that would take her the three some hours out into County Mayo had been filled with frustration but after changing buses multiple times and ending with a cab, she was finally here. Some fifteen minutes outside of Kildare, in the middle of green hills and forests deep, Brigid made the cabbie stop.

"Here, lass? You're certain? Ain't nothing out here but the sheep and ruins."

He might not have been able to see it but Brigid could. The magic that was so ingrained in the world around her was palpable. She felt it fill her lungs when she opened the door and it made the hollowness inside her chest lessen a little. Offering the cabbie his fare and a smile, she nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you."

Looking very unconvinced, the elderly man reached into his glove compartment and handed her a card. "Call, if you need anything. Or need a ride anywhere."

Tucking the card safely into her duffle bag, Brigid tried to reassure the man as she climbed out of the back, dragging her only other bag out with her. "I will, thank you, again." She didn't bother telling him she had no cell phone. She hadn't bothered setting up an overseas account — there was no point out here and she wasn't about to set up a landline. But the offer was nice nonetheless.

As she stood at the edge of the road, the cab finally driving back towards town, Brigid was alone again for the first time in days. The silence of no other humans and the lack of civilization was deafening but as her ears adjusted, she smiled. She wasn't alone out here by any means. Birds chirped in the brush and trees; sheep bleated in the fields beyond; a hawk screeched. No, she wasn't alone out here. So why did her chest feel so tight?

Shaking herself off of the melancholy, Brigid hefted her bags over her shoulders and made for a small, nondescript path just off the side of the road. It was barely perceptible from the rest of the native brush, but animals had clearly been using it as a trail, the fauna stomped down by their steps. Small purple flowers dotted the overgrowth, a gorgeous contrast to the green of the fields.

Following the path as it weaved away from the road and towards the tree line, something caught Brigid's attention at the edge of the forest. If she hadn't been looking around she never would've seen the creature where it hid in the shadows. Its yellow-green eyes were focused on her movement; its pointed ears poised in her direction. Brigid had never seen a wolf up close but even with a few dozen feet between them, she could assume that this one was massive. Her breath caught in her throat; weren't wolves extinct in Ireland? She's positive they are. Between one blink and the next, the silhouette is gone. Maybe the spirits or the fae are playing games with her. Shaking her head, Brigid continued on the path, leaving the field behind to be surrounded by trees on all sides. But her mind kept thinking she was hearing something in the woods beyond. She'd pay her respects to the fae of the land soon; hopefully, that would appease them.

Her breaths were coming in pants by the time she reached the old stone markers that sat at the edge of her family's land. They had been there for generations, probably long before a dwelling of any kind had been erected here. Some towered high, reaching her head and then some, while others had been worn down and weather to barely her thighs. Beyond them a few paces, sitting in a small clearing surrounded by the forest, sat the old cabin. Surprisingly, it held up to the vision Brigid had of it from childhood. Bricks and stones made up the exterior, as well as circled the property in an old layered-stone fence. The thatched roof would definitely need repairing — how bad it was would depend on how many leaks she finds inside. The two chimneys, on either end of the small cottage, looked in good condition. At least, Brigid sure hoped they were. It was still chilly at night in late March. She would need to build fires to keep warm and cook her food until she could cook outside in the fire pit. Or dared to learn how to use the old range stove.