Harp was fast and dear to me. I often took him up onto the open country to see him run, twisting and leaping among the gorse to take the hares, then standing at my side, tongue lolling, waiting for his reward. At the end of one such day, the Sun flaming on the rim of the World, I climbed to where great stones have stood since the time of giants. Many fear this place, but to me it seems a sanctuary, a place of larks and warm, west winds.

I put my back against the table-stones. Three are upright and the fourth lies across, held above the ground; the day’s heat, baked within them, soaked through my shirt. Harp laid his head upon my knee. It is a high place. You can see our fields and the ditch and palisade upon our hilltop, my father’s house rising within, smoke curling up. Other heights rear further off, valleys smudged between with woodland. It was clear that day, and the eye could span more than a day’s travel over the whole circle of the World.

I remember Harp growled deep in his chest and looked above my shoulder to the table-top. He whined and stood, moving off a little. I kept my eyes on the view.

The half-Sun slipped behind the hills beneath a burnished drapery of cloud. The larks were silent now. “What would you do for it?”

“For what?” I answered.

“For all this. All that you can see.”

“Do?”

“Your father will not just give it to you, you know.” Her voice came closer, as she leant forward. “So, what would you do for it?” She put her feet on my shoulders, tapped her toes.

I stood and turned. “You forget yourself,” I said, trying to be offended but feeling only joy at seeing her. “What are you wearing?” Her skirts were short and she wore cross-bound leggings like a boy. Her hood was down and her hair moved freely in the breeze.

She raised an eyebrow. “Whatever I bloody well like.”

I turned my back and sat down, facing the sunset again. “I can only conclude that you’ve been insufficiently beaten before now.”

“Oooh!” I heard her thump to the ground. She sat next to me, barged me with her shoulder. “Answer the question.”

“I will listen to my father’s wisdom in all things.”

“He would marry you off to one of Fathaf’s fat daughters, distract you, bind you.” I wanted to tell her I would have none of it, but held back. “You’ll never know how much you could have reached for.”

I looked at her. “You’re mad. What do you know about it anyway? You’re a….a…girl.”

She took a breath and looked at me beneath her brows, appraising. “Do you know Long Top?”

“Yes. Its a barren place. The people there are sick, and ill-favoured by the Ancestors, I think. Some evil is in their history.”

“A King was there.”

“King? What is that?”

She snorted. “A King. A Great One, a Lord over many clans. Rich and wise.”

“I’ve heard these stories. It is child’s talk. We need no ‘King’ here. We are free.”

“Some freedom, walled up in Ghadran’s lair.”

“Oh, this again, is it? Well, your father seems to know the wisdom of staying. Perhaps you should bother him about it and learn your place.”

She stood up and walked out in front of me, looking at the horizon. She pointed out into the distance. “Long Top is there. It was called ‘High Haven’ in former times and the King there was Thorvalt, of the house of Thorvannath.” She looked back at me, “I am of that blood.” The strange lilting tone had come into her voice again. I had never seen any woman stand so proud or still; one moment a child, the next like this. I was fascinated.

“Hafgan has no name.”

“Some things are hidden.”

“Why would you tell me then? You are dreaming this up to trouble me. I never ask you for your secrets. Perhaps you should truly keep them.”

She came close. I felt a tremor inside, a need to reach for her. I was stock-still upon the grass but every muscle was tight. “Thorvild’s people came to this country, hunted from their own. They made a place here and ruled wisely for ten generations until they were betrayed and slaughtered like beasts.”

“Sit down.” She did so, seeming to relax although I was thrumming like a bowstring. “I know nothing of this history. Its not in the Songs. It may be true, but we are here and this is now. There are no Kings. Can we not just be ourselves? You ask me what I would do for all this,” I swept my arms at the country all about, “well I do not know that I want it! Rhandren…”

“He is a farmer!” She snorted.

“We are all farmers, Ulyen. To be otherwise is to die or live as thieves. Rhandren and I…” she was trying to interrupt but I held up my hand to still her. “Rhandren and I and my father will find the wisest course. The Ancestors will guide us…”

“Back to the sheep fold.”

“Ulyen!”

“Ploughboys all.”

“Get stuffed.”

She smiled at me. “You are stubborn. But there is hope, I think. You are like your father.”

“Save me from that then, please!”

“No, it’s good! When the time comes you’ll find out.”

“What?”

“You’ll find out what you will do to get what you want.”

“I have everything I want.” I looked her in the eye, “Almost.”

She widened her eyes comically “There is so much more.”

I reached out my hand to her, to the angle of her jaw, the softness against the back of my fingers. I ran fingertips up the almost invisible down in front of her ear, lifted her hair and put my palm to her nape. Our eyes were locked. I leant slightly towards her, pulled, but she resisted. I pulled harder, wanting to draw her to me put still she held back, bracing herself against the turf.

“How much do you want it?” She asked. Her features were set, no trace of the smile. “How far would you go?” I doubled my effort, and she too, grasping my forearm with her free hand. I gained inches, hand’s breadths. Her nostrils flared, her breath rasping, lips curling back. We closed, still her body taught; a wildness was in her eyes, a shine like tears, and her teeth were clenched. No words now, and we were so close that her breaths were hot upon my lips. I remember thinking ‘My life, but you are strong’.

Then, a kind of cry came from her and the resistance was gone, and she flowed into me, lips parting in salt and honey, her arms around me. I lost myself then, giddy with effort from the struggle, breathless. I felt her leg encircle me, her hips now rocking urgently against me. I gripped her, my hand under her.

After a time she broke away a little. I sought her eyes, almost too close to focus, saw them alive, her broad grin gleaming. We were both panting, giggling. My hand was on her bodice, where a thong laced to and fro to close the garment; I fumbled. She laughed, “Here is a rampart! Can you do it?” Our foreheads pressed together, her hair falling about my face. I smelled her sweat, felt her hand on me through my breeks.

Frustrated, I tore at her leather cord. “Fuck it!” I drew my knife, saw her eyes widen but quickly slipped it under the lacing.

“Now we see it. You’re quick with your iron if you want something badly enough.”

“Shut up.”

“One of iron, one of flesh.” She ground her hips again.

“Enough!” I cut up through the cords, sawing. She arched back, frightened? I couldn’t tell, didn’t care. A last cord parted and the blade came free again, the point under her chin. We became very still.

Her breathing slowed. “Is this how it will be?” I said, half to myself. Sweat chilled on my back.

Her gaze was piercing. She lowered her head, the knifepoint dimpling beneath her chin, all humour gone. “What would you do for it?”

“Stop this.”

“How far?”

“Ulyen.”

“Command me, my King”

“I am no King.”

“Not yet.” And she spat at me, into my face.

Rage blazed up and I threw her back onto the turf. I saw her eyes wild again, should have marked the madness in her derision, but saw only insolence, the insolence I yearned for. I caught her, straddled the flare of her hips and tore open her bodice. Beneath, a finer garment was tied with delicate knots. I broke them. My knife was again at her collar-bone, tracing across the pale flesh. I saw the smooth planes of muscle at her shoulder, drew the embroidered hem aside over the swelling cone of her breast; the wide, dark nipple bunched and tightened. Her breaths were deep, measured, matching my own, her eyes liquid in the half-light. The knifepoint moved again, as if beyond my command, across the taut plain of her belly to the neat fold of her navel. A trail of fine, black hairs lead into the rucked cloth beneath me.

“Don’t tell me you are not like your father.” She said.

I met her eyes. Her wrist behind her head, she now seemed very calm. “You are too beautiful.” I said. I tossed the blade aside, ashamed suddenly. “I’m sorry.” Releasing her, I sat at her shoulder.

“And I.” She looked away, into the bruised, fading purples above the distant hills. Drawing her clothes together she sat up, leant against me. I pressed my face into her hair.

“Mine is not the easy path, Dran.” She said quietly. “You should find a fine fat wife and raise your beasts and brats in the sunshine.” I kept silent. She was there, still close to me and I cared for little else than that. “You are stronger than you know, but it will not be enough.” My arm was around her, gently, and I felt a drop of moisture fall upon it. I drew her tighter against me. “I am…”

“Hush. No more.” She smelled of sweet earth.

The stars began their glimmering above us. Far off, Old Grizzle raised his voice, began the clan-chorus of the upland pack. I felt her draw deeply on the turf-scented air. “I am so lost, Dran, and I will lose you too.” The breeze had turned chill.

“No, Ulyen. No. I have found you.”