"Aneirin . . ." she gasped, staring up at him with wide, starry eyes. "I - "

The book was gently kicked up into the air, flapping lazily like some kind of wounded, multi-winged bird. "You're to stop reading that trash, Fflur."

The girl scowled up at her brother, sandy hair tumbling into hazel eyes as she pushed herself up out of the grass. "Be quiet, Rin! It's not trash! It's a legend of the Great Bard Aneirin!" Pouting, she tried to catch the book as it began to tumble back to the ground, but a long hand covered in ink-stains caught it before she did.

The boy standing between Rin and Fflur looked irritated, tucking the book under his arm. "It doesn't really matter whether it's trash or not," he sighed, although his tone showed he thought it was utter trash as much as Rin did. "Mum wants you to stop lazing about."

Fflur sniffed, pulling blades of grass out of her braid. "It's not lazing. It's historical - educational, even."

"It's a story about some bloke who supposedly went around the country playing a bloody harp and charming the evil out of beautiful, yet misguided women. Real historical." Rin rolled his eyes in brotherly contempt.

"He's your namesake!" She poked him in the chest fiercely before turning on her other brother. "Give me my book back, Howell!"

"You can have it back when you run this up to Old Lloyd for Da." Howell swept down and casually plucked a covered basket from the ground, shoving it into Fflur's arms before she could protest.

"Don't drop it, Flower, or Da'll have your hide." Rin looked down at his sister, grinning smugly.

"And be back before supper, or Adwen'll have your hide." Howell made a noise that was partially sympathetic, but mostly mocking, before turning around and wandering back to the house with Rin at his side.

Fflur glared after the two boys, stomping a foot sulkily before turning on her heel and walking quickly away from the house, long sandy braid swaying behind her.

Clear, dark green eyes surveyed the land in front of them.

The grass was green and damp, but snow was still scattered over it and the fresh little buds of flowers. The few trees that were there were low, gnarled things, clinging to the ground and high rocks for protection from the harsh, icy wind that whipped black hair away from the eyes, brining the scent of the sea with it.

The land was cold, inhospitable, and bleakly beautiful, almost corpse-like.

A long white hand darted out, catching a blue throated gull as it hurtled through the air, intent on the ocean water below the cliffs.

The eyes swept across the cool hills once more, approving.

It would do.

Strong feet covered in black leather crunched away from the edge of the cliff, leaving no marks in the hard reindeer moss, grass, or the snow, just the broken body of the gull, with its blue neck neatly snapped.

Shutting her eyes, she could picture all the horrible things they'd do.

Howell would be sorting through stacks of books and scrolls, with Rin standing over him, laughing like a demon as he declared everything unfit for human eyes, ordering it all to be burnt without delay.

Fflur shuddered softly and hugged herself for comfort. It was cold and she felt quite hungry. The wind was tugging rather fiercely at her skirts and hair, but she ignored it. She knew she should go home, but the thought of having to face Rin and Howell again so soon, with their smirking faces was too much to bear. She also knew she could go back to Old Mister Lloyd, who had quite kindly invited her in for tea, but he had somehow seemed less inclined for her to stay about after she had presented him with the basket from her father. Which lead her to quietly brooding on the cliff.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered with a soft, uncertain laugh. Shaking her head, she untucked her feet and stood, staring over the edge of the cliff, the wind rising and pushing at her with greater ferocity than before.

"I think I'm glad I'm not one of those girls in the stories, even if they are beautiful," she confided to the wind as it whipped loose strands of sandy hair into her face. "If I were, I'd probably do something silly like declare life was no longer worth living and throw myself over the cliff. But I wouldn't die because some handsome knight in shining armour on a huge and impossibly clean white horse would come by and save me as I fell. Then we'd fall madly in love," her mouth twitched into a soft, helpless smile, "and I'd make him smite Rin and Howell for me." She stooped, gathering a handful of damp, cold grass from the ground and scattering it into the wind. "But, if I tried something like that, all that would happen would be that I'd fall and probably get stuck on some branch or something. Then Rin would come by and find me and he'd laugh and laugh and never let me forget about it."

She leaned a bit closer to the edge, staring at the waves as they crashed against the sharp looking rocks below. Then, quietly, she turned around, walking slowly back the way she'd came. "Real life is fine, but sometimes, I think it would be nice if things worked out like they do in stories. Everything turns out all right in stories, except for the poor villains. They always end up getting killed by people like Rin." She frowned, staring up at the sky as she thought about this. "And they deserve that, I suppose, because they do some horribly wicked things to people, but they probably weren't always bad and wicked . . ."

"Do you always talk to yourself, my dear child, or is this just a temporary insanity?"

Fflur spun around, hazel eyes widening nervously.

The speaker stood casually in front of a tree that was hugging the ground for safety, its trunk five times as thick as the body of the man standing in front of it. He wore the sort of smile Rin often did, lazy and superior, but his eyes were intense, as hard and piercing as some of the gems her father cut. He looked like a man who probably owned thousands of like gems. His hair gleamed darkly in the fading sunlight, and his clothes were rich things, dark, thick, and heavy enough to protect him from the cold wind. The way he stood, with one foot casually in front of the other, almost leaning back on the squatting tree, made him look like some of the rich men her father dealt with, which was strange, because he didn't look big enough to be imposing like they were. She doubted he was much taller than Howell, and he was certainly shorter than Rin, but the way he stood, like there was nothing in the world that could frighten him or set him off balance, made up for the lack of height.

"Well? Hasn't your mother taught you that it's rude not to answer questions?"

His voice sounded odd in her ears. It was colder than the wind, and despite the lazy slowness he spoke with, his foreign accent made them sound short and clipped.

"She taught me not to talk to strange men if I'm alone." Fflur tipped her chin up defiantly, even as she slowly took steps back.

"A clever woman." His stone hard eyes flicked lazily over Fflur's body, and she knew he could tell she was trying to get away. He didn't alter his position, obviously not caring whether she ran or not. "You'd be singing a different tune if the wind had thrust you over the edge of that exquisite cliff, my dear." A gloved hand languidly rose to tap his chin. "Isn't it fascinating how circumstances alter the ways people meet?"

The lazy, singsong way he spoke his words made him sound rather like some of the crazy beggars she saw when her mother took her to the capital. Somehow, the thought did not make him any less intimidating.

"I don't know . . . Maybe." Her eyes darted from side to side uncertainly, searching for signs that someone else was coming.

"No one's coming, dear." He laughed, stretching back languidly, catlike. "Or were you expecting someone? A sweetheart? A knight, all gleaming white and silver, with golden hair and shining eyes, here to take you away from everything, and into a land that promises you everything you've ever dreamed of? Where beautiful princesses live in towers tall and bright, made of spun sugar, with deadly lizards hissing spurts of flame and acid soaring around, watching for intruders at all hours?"

"I have to go." Fflur shivered. "My mother's waiting for me."

The man gave no sign that had heard Fflur speak, running his fingers through his hair. "In the stories, there are always three beautiful daughters of a poor but honest and noble family. Each daughter is more beautiful than the last. Their mother will have died giving birth to the youngest and most beautiful of the daughters, and their father will have to work even harder than he had to before to make ends meat. Then, one day, while he's out alone in the forest, doing whatever it is he happens to do to make ends meat, he'll fall into the trap of some evil witch, or sorcerer, or demon, or some such, and be turned into a tree, a wolf, a bear, a hawk, a snake." The stranger abruptly waved his hand impatiently in the air, breaking the hypnotic effect his words were having on Fflur. "It doesn't matter what, but this representation of evil turns the poor but noble father into some form where he is unable to communicate with his own kind, perhaps even going so far as to steal the memories and make him believe the form he has is his true form, so he'll savage whatever happens across his path. Unless he's a tree, of course." This thought made the stranger laugh, a true, almost joyful, sort of laugh, and Fflur smiled tentatively in response to the image of a gnarled little father-tree falling over to attack some unsuspecting person who looked a lot like Rin.

"Now, in the story, the three beautiful daughters will realize something has happened to their noble father, and will set off, one after the other, to try and save him. The older two, of course, fail. They either die," the stranger's smile widened and Fflur's amusement abruptly disappeared, "or they suffer a fate similar to their fathers. Very, very sad." The stranger shook his head in mocking sympathy, not looking very, very sad at all. "The youngest and most beautiful daughter will always succeed, of course. Because she's the youngest and most beautiful daughter. She will be much more thorough in her planning to go save her father. She will set out boldly, with a pure heart, and will encounter everything on the road that her elder and less-beautiful sisters did. Wounded, ugly beasts, hunchbacked old women, and what have you. They will, of course, have all asked the older sisters for help, but they would have been so intent upon their quest, so driven, that they would have ignored the pleas. The youngest daughter stops, of course, and aids each and every one, and in return, is given a special gift, or promise of aid, from every one. Then she is able to save her father, return him to his true state, and save her sisters, if they haven't suffered some horrible, gruesome fate at the hands of the embodiment of evil. The representation of evil dies, unless he repents his evil ways, and all his other wicked enchantments are reversed. Naturally, the ugly, misshapen old beggar or lame donkey," the man winked at Fflur, as though there was some joke in his words, "turns out to be a handsome young prince, who was enchanted and confused by the evil one as the three daughters' father was. He falls in love with the youngest daughter for helping him despite the fact that he was hideously grotesque, or a worthless animal, and they're married almost the next day. If the older sisters didn't die, he turns out to, conveniently, have two older brothers, not quite as handsome, but rich and kind, and they get married as well."

Fflur shook her head, swallowing visibly, and rubbed at her head, frowning. The strange man was no longer lounging against the tree. She wondered when there had been time for him to move so close. "I don't see," she said with a quaver in her voice, "what this has to do with anything."

The man smiled coolly, and a gloved hand came up, brushing lightly against Fflur's cheek. "Imagine what would happen to the father if the beautiful daughter had not recognized her handsome prince while under the burden of his curse. Wouldn't that be simply tragic?" he whispered, breath gently moving a few strands of hair across Fflur's forehead.

"I . . ." Fflur pulled back, putting a hand to her chest, trembling. "I have to go home. My parents will be worried about me."

"Such loving parents," the man murmured, eyes half-shut, his pose radiating boredom and disinterest once more.

Fflur frowned at him uncertainly, hazel eyes glittering with interest deep behind her fright. "Good day, sir," she whispered, before quickly heading down the gently sloping side of the cliff, jumping over awkwardly positioned boulders with ease born of repetition.

He balanced on the rocks, staring out at the ocean, the grey waves reflected in dark green eyes. The wind blew his hair back, tangling it wildly. He smiled thinly down at the water, arms spread, like a bird about to take flight. "I think that went well," he whispered into the wind, before jumping from the cliff gracefully, vanishing from sight toward the waves.