EPILOGUE

Fran hugged herself. "Why am I in the middle of a muddy field in the pouring rain? And why have you got a rather larger pile of books than my local Waterstone's ?"
"Just in case the tea chests didn't work," said Fynn cheerfully. "Oh, by the way, thanks for the Celtic thingy." He carefully removed it, and returned it to Fran. "Although, for future reference, I don't wear jewellery that's brighter than I am."
"It's not sentient, it just picks up on your unconscious. You're the one that's brighter than you are."
"Oh, thanks, probably. Could you pass the wine?"
Fran pouted over the half-bottle, some kind of herb clutched in her other hand. "That's good Lamberhurst wine, that is. Why can't we use some cheap French plonk?"
Fynn sighed. "It's not the same. What's the sage for?"
"Thought it might be appropriate for a healing goddess."
Fynn grinned. Carefully, he poured the wine onto the stone and on the grass around it in a libation, than placed the sage right on the stone. "And don't mess up this time round, okay?"
"Ooh, very reverent," Fran was smiling despite the rain. "Are we done here?"
"I reckon so." Fynn held out his arm. "shall we?"
Fran took it. "Let's."

© Naomi Claydon, 2000