It was just past dawn and the sun colored the sky a shy pink. As the summer was nearing its end, there were large cobwebs jeweled with dewdrops, sparkling in the early light. The lush green in the glade glittered with dew as well. The air smelled of moist earth and spices, without a doubt announcing the onset of autumn. He threw his head back and inhaled the scents with relish. Gods, he loved this time of the year. The dust and ashes of high summer were over and the bitter cold of winter was not yet at hand. Laughing out loud he expanded his muscled arms to embrace the world and turned to leave this secluded spot.
He roamed through the woods at will. Nobody knew for sure where he lived, where he slept if he slept. All the people of the land knew for certain was that he brought bad luck. He was aware of the belief, but secretly despised them for their silly superstition. The only thing that kept him from enlightening them, was the advantages it brought him. He tossed his hair in the wind, the dark locks reaching almost to his shoulders and his dark blue eyes had a mischievous spark in them. Let them be scared of him. That kept them well and nice out of his way.
Judging from the sun, he guessed it was about noon as he returned to the little clearing. It was his own favorite spot, very secluded and with a small brook nearby. There even grew a few apple trees and in one spot a nice patch of mushrooms returned every year. It was too early for apples or mushrooms so there was no danger of humans hunting for them. He felt free to stretch his limbs and lie basking in the sun. Under the influence of the warm sun and the soft droning of bees his eyes started to close. Dozing in his private patch of greenery he slipped into dreamtime.
It might have been the cracking of a twig or something that alerted him in the first place. Shifting almost imperceptibly he turned his head in the direction of the sound. He pretended to be asleep and hid the angry glow in his eyes. Who dared to intrude this far into his territory? Although he heard someone moving he could see nothing. Getting more irritated by the minute he gave up his pretense and stood erect. With his head thrown back he looked around him but still with no result. Nobody he could see. Frowning he moved a few paces towards the sounds.
As soon as he started moving the sounds stopped. The minute he stopped moving however, the sounds started again. After three of four times, he gave up. Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, he returned to the middle of the glade and stood with his back to the direction from which the noises came. Maybe that way he could fool whoever was out there. He closed his eyes so he could concentrate on listening.
He opened his eyes again and had to shake his head. A weird dream was clinging to him and making him restless. Nobody was able to sneak up on him, nobody. So where did that dream come from? He knew the dream meant something special, but he was not sure what. Sighing he turned to leave the glade again.
If he wanted to know the meaning of the dream he had to visit Emma. He groaned at the thought, because the old woman always took her time in dispensing her wisdom. And maybe worse, she was not superstitious at all so she treated him the same as she treated other people. Muttering he made his way to the hut of the old woman. He could not afford to let the dream slip by.
From a long way off he could smell Emma busy with her trade. He rounded the bend in the path and saw the old woman standing over a big mortar. Her legs braced she pounded a huge pestle with concentration, crushing a load of herbs for a potion. That was all she ever did. Not healing, not comforting the sick, only providing the potions. And of course her talent for explaining the events of dreamtime.
Despite her absorption in the work at hand, Emma heard someone approaching and straightened her back, resting her pestle against the side of the stone mortar. Watching, she admired the visitor as always. The stern face, the broad chest, the beautiful lines of powerful legs and the shining black coat. This time, though, the young man looked distinctly upset. Emma frowned. She could not remember ever having seen Conall upset before.
"Conall, welcome." Emma wiped the sweat of her brow and leaned against the mortar. "Something to drink? Water? Wine?" She hid a grin when she saw the annoyed look on the other's face. She knew very well that she irritated Conall with her unhurried ways. Her guest shook his head but Emma fancied a drink herself so she shouted towards the house for her granddaughter to fetch a jug of wine.
It didn't take long for Rose to come out. She had only recently come back to live with Emma and she had never seen Conall before. Her blue eyes turned big as saucers and she seemed rooted to the spot. The old woman took over the wine, poured herself a glass and offered Conall a glass as well. Emma smiled when the centaur accepted after all. He attention was focussed on Rose, on the glossy gold hair, the big eyes and the supple body, clad in a simple pink dress.
"Conall, you never met Rose, my granddaughter, did you?" Emma was laughing a bit mockingly. Then she shifted her gaze to the young woman still staring at the visitor. "Rose, this is Conall. I told you about him."
Emma settled herself on the tree stump in front of her house and sipped from her wine, enjoying the smooth taste and watching the others over the rim of her glass. The wine smelled like bitter chocolate and was nearly black in color. She noticed how the strong hands of Conall clutched the frail goblet. Her granddaughter looked flushed and appeared awed by the presence of the powerful young centaur.
It took no more than two glasses before Emma had Conall speaking, telling his weird dream and asking for an explanation. Emma nodded as she listened, encouraging the other to describe his exact feelings. After she heard the whole tale she topped up the goblet and stood up. She patted the young man on his smooth bronzed shoulder.
