Chapter 10
Next afternoon wasn’t so difficult. Once Rhys and Siân had practised the fairy woman’s story, they told the tale of a changeling boy and how, by brewing beer in an egg cup and finding a hen without a single white tail feather, his mother managed to win him back from the fairies. The next day, they told a silly story about a man called Cadwaladr and his goat. Except, they didn’t simply tell the story. They acted it out, with laughter and bleating voices, trading memories of their childhood back on the mountains.
It was the same the next afternoon, and the ones following—as if the stories worked a kind of magic. For no matter how distant Rhys was of a morning, nor how tight and white his face at the beginning of a story, once he entered the realm of the make believe, the real, s
