Wash-day on the river-bank.
Healers too must lend a hand.
And it is nice to dream as I beat Kai’s breeches against the rocks.
Llud carries the longhouse fleeces for me.
Today though he lingers on the bank.
I do not mind.
I am simply curious.
This is not men’s work.
Then my hands plunge in among the sheepskins.
They are drenched in mead – thick, honey-sweet, intoxicating.
And immediately I know.
I look at Llud and raise my eyebrows.
We begin to laugh.
All morning we slap and twist the mead out – working together in delicious complicity