The horse tossed its head as the rider looked down at her in confusion. “Who are you?”
“I am Una.” None of the panic she usually experienced around strangers came to plague her, and she found the smallest of smiles tilting her lips upward.
There was joy in being able to address this man without fear.
“I do not know you,” the grey-eyed man said, his brows drawn together.
“I am aware.” Her smile grew. “I have told you my name. Now, tell me yours.”
She did not know this boldness in the physical world, but here, she felt safe. This was the Chrechte spirit realm, a place she as Éan could only be called to, and a place where no harm could come to her.
No Faol with intention to harm would be allowed to enter. Of this her eagle was so certain, even her human heart had to accept it.
“I am called Bryant.”
“You are Faol.”
“You are Éan?” he asked, rather than stated.
“I am.”
“Are you celi di?” Though the way his storm-cloud gaze roamed over her said spiritual guidance was the last thing on his mind.
“No.” Familiar shame that had no place here still assailed her. “I am nothing special.”
“I am sure that is not true.”
“You would not know.” All urge to smile had fled.
Concern darkened his eyes, as if her sadness truly bothered him. “I am drawn to you.”
She merely shook her head.
Bryant dismounted with an ease of movement she knew was not simply because they conversed in the spirit realm. His natural grace delighted her here, though were she to see it at home, she would consider it a threat she knew.
“Were you sleeping when you came to this place?” he asked as he came near, seemingly unconcerned with what his horse might get up to without its rider.
“I was.”
“So, this is a dream?” he asked.
“No.” Even in her dreams, her terror of the Faol would never let her stand so close to him.
“Where are we then?”
“You are so sure I have the answers?”
“I know only that I do not.”
“It is the Chrechte spirit realm.”
“I have heard stories.” He frowned. “But surely this is not real. This is naught but a dream.”
She put her hand out, rejoicing in her temerity to do so, and touched his muscular arm. His hand came up seemingly of its own volition to cover hers. Warmth spread between them, though the mists surrounding them were still cool in the early morning air of this place.
“This does not feel like a dream,” he said with quiet awe.
“Because it is not.”