Juliet Marillier - Child of the Prophecy

Back in my room I made myself picture the travelling folk loading their carts, harnessing their horses, setting off up the track northwards with their dogs running alongside and the lads bringing up the rear. I made myself think of Darragh on his white pony, and forced myself to hear his words again. I don’t like to see you doing that … you made sure everyone would be looking … you’re a danger to yourself … If that was how he saw me, it was surely far better that our paths were separating now. Year after year, season after season I had waited for him, pinning my hope and happiness on his return. It had seemed to me, sometimes, that I was not fully alive unless he was there. Now my grandmother was coming, and I was being sent away; everything was changing. Best if I put Darragh from my thoughts and just get on with things. Best if I learn to do without him. Besides, what could a travelling boy understand about sorcery, and shape-changing, and the arts of the mind? It was a different world; a world beyond his wildest imaginings. It was a world in which, finally, one must be strong enough to move forward quite alone.

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