"...tis the day of Sawan eve, daughter. This night all manner of mischief and enchantment will be loosed abroad. It is right young ones be taught the nature of creatures they share our world with."
"As I have said, it shall be you who sits with them at night now, Mother."
So saying my fostermother left the kitchen again to attend her duties, but not before casting an anxious glance my way, as was her wont.
Grandmother made a sound of disgust at her daughter's retreating shadow. To her mind Brangaled hadn't been right since she returned to Penellyn Hall with the twins five years earlier. No, the old woman wasn't fooled by her daughter's assertions that the boy was her own, though Brangaled herself seemed convinced of the lie. Dimly Grandmother gazed at Gavynn, and wondered what had become of her true grandson, and what enchantment had been placed on Brangaled to bind her to the lie. She had never dared broach the subject to Gruffedd, but believed he was aware nonetheless. Questions plagued her court intriguer's heart.
"Where did the Coraneid come from, Grandmother," Goewen asked once Brangaled was out of earshot.
"It is believed that they came out of Eurybia, or perhaps Egypt, where they once hunted the deep deserts, preying on wild beasts and luckless travelers; for want of water, drinking blood. Most, however, serve the Dark Lord now, as Rwn and her fellows certainly did. They slip in amongst humans, in places where foreigners are more common and accepted, winning others over with their beauty, charm, money and enchantments; all the while murdering and seducing. Llyr was right to hunt them out and kill them. Some wept, and begged for mercy. Some claimed they had once been human. It was a terrible thing to hear. But what else could he have done?"
Grandmother made as if to rise and attend her chores.
No no, chorused the children, tell us another story!
"Tell us Olwen's Lay," begged Goewen.
"No, tell us of The Wild Hunt," urged Clywd.
"Not now children, it is time we all tend our duties," she said, and shooed them out into the bright morning mist that was usual in the vale, by the shores of Llyn Cwmellyn.
Penellyn Hall was a great hall of men. Built of strong oak timbers, black with age, and with bright thatch to roof it, it guarded the murmuring Afon Gwydrfai, Llyn Cwmellyn, and the old forest road to Caer Narvon; the northern approaches to P'ellyn land. The Hall itself was built in the shape of a cross. The Great room, a huge smokey den, such as is dear to the hearts of men, facing the Old Road, made up the chief bulk of the structure. The Kitchens and pantries were at it's head, nearest the river Gwydrfai. In the north wing the family of The P'ellyn resided, and the opposite wing was for servants and slaves.
South of Penellyn Hall was P'ellyn land, a land as rich as Eden. Orchards of fruit and nut, planted when the first P'ellyns claimed the land, yielded harvests as no others in Gwenedd, Powys or Dyfedd. Pastures carpeted the hills with sweet grasses of such verdant lushness that the cattle of the P'ellyns were reknown for their fatted and tender flesh, the dairy animals for their rich milk, which P'ellyn women churned into butter, or pressed into fine cheese. Gardens cropped heavily, and the herbs, basil, dill, rosemary and sage, dampened each dawn in the mists from the lake, were possessed of a zest unusual to norther gardens. And in the past few years the harvest, always more than adequate, had been almost staggering.
To the north and east of The Old Road, which would one day be paved by the Romans, rose the bald heads of Eilio, Gron, Goch, and Cynghorion. To the Southwest marched away Mount Mawr, The Garn, Ddysgl Ridge, the Rock of Cwm Silyn, and Garnedd goch, the rusty red cairn. But to the east, rearing it's summit above the old forest, and all rivals, loomed Cadair Y Cawr, Snowdon, whose heights were sacrosanct, forbidden to the foot of the common and profane. Crowned in cloud most often, the mountian silently dominated the P'ellyns, mind and heart; especially of we who dwelt in the great hall of The P'ellyn, which sprawled, like a prostrate supplicant, at the mountain's foot.
Far aback of the farmlands, on both shores of Llyn Cwmellyn, and skirting the mountain's feet grew an ancient forest of oak, ash, beech and pine. It was a dim world appart from mortal concerns, hoary with lichen, moss and mold. Only to use the lake road did humans tresspass it's boundaries, for it was known to be elf-haunted, and home to wild beasts. Those whose business sent them north, perhaps to the markets of Caer Narvon, were cautious to leave offerings at the forest altar prior to entering it's hallowed gloam, and wear such amulets as they bore faith in. And still these travelers passed through the forest in hurried silence.
