Gormglaith | Page 4

smacked Gormglaith's bottom as she ran off with clunchy
flashes of teeth and blue lake eyes under a lop of straw thatch, cast a
wave at Giorsal and loped down the hall.
Coming to a tidy nest Gormglaith put the prism in a deep window sill,
glanced about then stopped short, gazing down with knitted brow. On
the low, wide, sleekly slatted elmwood sleeping staddle, snug in a
dimple it had made on folded cotton heaps lay a book, an Eachdraidh
nan Fylgjic, this one the cloth kind with leaves gathered in an ash grey
linen binding bedecked with pink runes. The open sheaf was thrown
right, to a song.
In a dale of tales so thrillin' Plait kin by flaxen linen Nigh pumpkins on
pine needles Pulling moon to light what's sown...
She stared outside as the waxing moon lofted higher, the sun fell
behind dark clouds rimmed with broken orange and elms swayed,
ruffling in the wind.
Gormglaith wandered into a bath with cool, swatched walls of scrubbed

bluestone, the smell of natron soap over freshly laundered cotton
towels. She hooked thumbs under the wide, folded wrap below her
chest and yanked grey linen down the chalkenly sheer, blue green
veined skin of belly, thighs, knees and big feet, then sat on her heels. A
sprinkling in the water below wafted a fallain hint of leaf and root as
she stared hard into grainy folds of feldspar and quartz.
She stood, nudged a swab snugly between her thighs and tapped the
pink goblin on the floor with a bare foot. A puff of white hit the
whirlpool like a shattered tulip blossom. She went to the sink and gazed
at herself, short straw blond thatch falling over an eye, glowing in dusk
light. She sucked in her breath, frowned, splashed water on her face,
opened a wall cupboard, put on white longstockings (keeping them so
rimpled behind the knees), dipped her feet into bighty bright yellow
wooden klompen with cheerfully drawn flowers, glanced at bare chest
and face in the looking glass and spun out the door.
sheaf 2
Harvest Home
Gormglaith sat with Geileis at the latticed blond elmwood board,
Giorsal with Gobnait crosswise when Flann tore by, late from some
errand, a bright blear of long red hair and freckles, platinum nose ring
gleaming, still smelling like her run and the outdoors as she came back
(having swapped longstockings) and slid onto the bench by Gormglaith.
Clothed and shod alike, they talked clanninishly.
"Where's the wicked witch?" asked Gormglaith, looking about.
"On the skate back to Kin Dails," Geileis answered with a shrug. "She
said she was thrilled to see thee, though."
Enid and Aine came scrubbed and clad like the others to alight on
smooth elm benches.
"Aine of Knockaine," Geileis said wistfully, chin in hand. "Have I ever
told thee how I flip for thy braids? Someday I'm going to grow my hair

and have swank brat braids like thine."
Aine smirked.
"Spog," said Enid raising thumbs up, short braids swishing. "Blue
cheese string noodyls!"
They told rundling tales, each put starkly with input from the others,
handing chalky dishes clockwise as a skeletal house robot of like hue
whistly filled in the gaps.
"So I frobbed the new vax first thing," said Giorsal, taking a sip of
bluish milk. "A pink bamfed in for a peek and feeped at me! It was the
wabbit," she sighed, "like they give a luzz at Skeinbanden."
"Kludgethorpe," Flann answered, grinning, "where twinks munch mung
and toast."
"I think it's chavel," said Enid, heedfully wrapping strands of blue
cheese string noodyls onto her fork. "The only grass wabbits anyone
runs anymore are those dodgy hacks from Skeinbanden."
"Jittery jags..." Aine put with raised forefinger, thick braids sweeping
across the wide pink brims on her figgish chest.
"...and hex hags!" Geileis said brightly as the others laughed.
Aine giggled, shoving a stringy forkful into her mouth as Enid wagged
a sandy blond head.
"So there's that porcelain dish at school," said Gormglaith, munching
on a tomato, "...the one with gold and blue bands they say is more than
6000 years old..."
Most nodded.
"From afar it looks sound but if you peer close there're thousands of
these teeny twining cracks..."

Gobnait, affixing a huge, billowing glob of chocolate almond mush to a
fat slice of gingerbread, gazed up with forefinger to chin and said,
"So Gormglaith, I hear Findabair wants to plight. How thrilling."
Gormglaith twirled her eyes in a throe.
"...Thought so!" sang Enid, digging her fork into the open top of a
baked orange pumpkin.
"Gobnait," Gormglaith put to her smug little sister, "it so happens
Findabair can't plight me alone. It takes three."
"I think it's chavel," said Gobnait, taking up the loaded gingerbread
with both hands, "how