celtic

A twinge of fear entered Gwenwhyfarâ__s heart. It was the first she had heard of the sea farms lying in the path of danger. She wondered what had befallen a different Norseman of her acquaintance. Had her poor bodyguard, Finn, perished in one of those raids?

As she peeked through the curtains with the phone in her hand, waiting for the police dispatcher to pick up, she realized there was one thing she did know about the naked stranger in her yard. He had, without a doubt, the finest butt on the planet.

Oh, trust me Sydney Tar Ponds, you aren__ the first Personification to be forgotten by somebody ordinary,_ Mearth sighed with a falsely-reassuring smile. Alecto stepped back from her, glaring hatefully. __ydney Tar Ponds,_ Mearth added, ____e had so many ordinary people as friends in my life that by now I__e forgotten all their names. At first it was difficult_ very sad_ to see them always leaving, dying, disappearing, ignoring, but after a while I realized that they weren__ worth the trouble. I__ rather be in the company of other Personifications. At least they aren__ always dropping dead like houseflies or sailing away to parts unknown. Nil sa saol seo ach ceo, i ni bheimid beo, ach seal beag gearr. Wouldn__ you agree?___o,_ Alecto told her. __ think you__e insane.

The life and passion of a person leave an imprint on the ether of a place. Love does not remain within the heart, it flows out to build secret tabernacles in a landscape.

Refusing to lean back against him, Colleen sat ramrod straight until they reached the road. __ guess I should say thank you for saving my life,_ she muttered then turned and slapped Faolán hard across the face. __nd that__ for you having to save it in the first place. And I__ not your woman, you big, arrogant, lying, betraying_faery loving_ She searched for the perfect insult and couldn__ find one, __Scot._ She gave a very unladylike snort. __appy now? That fiery enough for you?

Identify yourself,_ Colleen demanded. ____e got a bat and I will beat the living shit out of you if you so much as blink. I__e got a black belt,_ she lied frantically, __nd_and_a gun. A big one._ - Colleen O__rien

You turn the lights on and off here and if you can__ sleep and want something to read there are books in the living room_ her voice broke off. __ait. Can you read?__is chin took a slight tilt upward. __ye,_ Faolán replied, his voice cool, __n English, Gaelic, Latin, or French. My Welsh is a bit rusty, and I doona remember any of the Greek I was taught except for words not fit for a lady__ ears. I can also count all the way up to_ He looked down and wiggled his large bare toes, __twenty._ _ Faolán MacIntyre

Funny how I keep forgetting you__e insane._ - Colleen O__rien

Submitted for your approval--the curious case of Colleen O__rien and thegorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room._ _ Rod Serling

Och, lass. Yer going to have to not do that._ Faolán exhaled. __reeping up on a man is a dangerous thing, and I confess I__ jumpier than most. Yer feet are soft as a cat__.___ wasn__ creeping anywhere, I was going to make coffee and this is my house, I__l creep anywhere I like,_ Colleen muttered with a petulant scowl. __ut I wasn__ creeping.

His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. __my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,_ Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. __hese lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,_ he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. ____ not, am I?__he inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen__ face. __o, you__e not, but I guess I can see how they__ think that,_ she muttered darkly. __hat you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.

Food shouldn__ be that shade of green, lass._ _ Faolán MacIntyre

Git'er DoneThey beat their swords upon their shieldsTo no beast or man would they yield

The River SwishDeftly maneuvered through the dark green abyss ~The wooden raft seemed in tune with this ~Canorous rush of theriver swish....

A twinge of fear entered Gwenwhyfar__ heart. It was the first she had heard of the sea farms lying in the path of danger. She wondered what had befallen a different Norseman of her acquaintance. Had her poor bodyguard, Finn, perished in one of those raids?

She ran. Deeper, deeper into the mysterious Broceliande forest...

The Celt, and his cromlechs, and his pillar-stones, these will not change much _ indeed, it is doubtful if anybody at all changes at any time. In spite of hosts of deniers, and asserters, and wise-men, and professors, the majority still are adverse to sitting down to dine thirteen at a table, or being helped to salt, or walking under a ladder, of seeing a single magpie flirting his chequered tale. There are, of course, children of light who have set their faces against all this, although even a newspaperman, if you entice him into a cemetery at midnight, will believe in phantoms, for everyone is a visionary, if you scratch him deep enough. But the Celt, unlike any other, is a visionary without scratching.

Black snowflakes creep down from the sky, advancing slowly, methodically. All the money in the world, which my father seems to have, can__ keep the demons from chasing me _ Aishling Morrighan Delaney, a.k.a. princess of Clan Delaney. Everything is messed up. I__ wearing the __appy Birthday_ sash across my chest that my best friend, Claire, had always insisted I wear for my special day, but this is not that day. My twentieth birthday was over a month ago, on October 31, the night of Samhain, the Celtic New Year__ Eve.This is December 7th, and the Ten Colds Moon is rising. My fate stalks me. Doesn__ look like I__ going to make it to my belated birthday party. I lean into my horse, Kheelan, as he tears across the bracken and bramble moor, and beyond through the amethyst fields of devil__ bit, for a moment outrunning the faerie__ freak show. The spiky shrubs of the moor bite my legs as we attempt to outrun the Fates and the black snow that comes like a gathering sandstorm, trailing me. This princess thing in Ireland can get a girl killed fast, or maybe it__ just me. I am the faerie slayer of the seventh order and the 28th generation, the prophesied Gael Siridean, the Searcher. As such, my head is crowned with a supernatural bounty, and the price is high_The thread of my life frays rapidly, as does the hem of this black velvet medieval-style dress I borrowed from my best friend, Claire. She__ throwing me a themed party this year. If I make it out of this alive tonight, she__ going to kill me for ruining her dress and causing her more worry. Maybe she__l grant me mercy when she takes in my drenched, haggard appearance with thistle strewn throughout my hair and dark eyeliner no doubt leaving claw marks down my cheeks. I can__ tell her what really happened here tonight. I can__ tell anyone.