Geraint watches her carefully as Lyva limps over to Lycur. Who knows what other injuries she has suffered from the fight. She needs help — but I don’t know how to help her. None of us do. Pryderi moves to touch her, but Geraint shakes his head, holding out a silent hand to stop her.
We don’t know how she will react to being touched in this state.
Lyva climbs onto the bed; she curls the blanket around all of us, rests her head on my shoulder and looks for the first time at her niece and nephew, both of them nuzzling into my chest. Her hand strokes both of their pink bald heads with infinite care, careful not to leave bloody streaks. Her gaze is fiercely protective, her voice trembles as she greets them for the first time. “There you are little ones. I have been waiting for you to arrive.
