Willowsong
Beannaithe and Mac travelled a short distance north from Golberry's spring in the Old Forest. There they discovered the Great East Road, a long and meanderin' road that stretched for many leagues, from the haven of the Fair Folk on the shore of the Great Sea to their refuge in the secluded vale west of the Misty Mountains.
In seemin'ly no time at all Beannaithe and Mac came upon a crossroads where the Great East Road met the Greenway, an ancient road that ran from a ruined fortress of the Big Folk in the north-west to the Stoneland in the south-east where many of the Big Folk yet dwelt. The lass prodded the pony to continue on the Great East Road as it briefly turned south before it turned again to the east.
As Beannaithe and Mac rode, the sky began to darken as the sun continued its descent towards the horizon in the west. It were not long before both pony and rider began to hear a cacophony of hummin' and chirrupin' from the swarms of insects that lived in the vast march that lie just north of the road as it continued east. There also were the reek of rottin' vegetation and other unidentifiable things that lie half-submerged in the waters of the swamp.
"We will not be goin' in there, Mac!" Beannaithe said in thought to the pony. Mac whinnied his agreement.
Near the western edge of the marsh Beannaithe found what she sought. There in twilight stood yet another beautiful woman. She, too, were singin' songs to the birds that came to drink in her spring.
"This must be Goldberry's sister!" thought Beannaithe. The lass dismounted before cautiously approachin' the woman. Mac followed closely behind.
The river-maiden spied her and said, "My sister Goldberry sent you, did she not?. Have you come to aid me?"
Beannaithe nodded her head.
"I am Willowsong, the guardian of Silverwell, the sacred spring you see before you."
Beannaithe smiled and curtsied as Fikta had taught her.
"It is fortuitous that you are one of the Little Folk," she said. "My request is for their benefit."
Beannaithe was perplexed. How could her efforts benefit those who were so very far away?
"Those who drink of this sacred spring will be healed of their afflictions. However," Willowsong saiid with a frown on her fair face and a shake of her head, "it is of no benefit to those who will not draw near."
Beannaithe nodded again, indicatin' that she had understood Willowsong's words. She patiently waited for the rest of the woman's story.
"There is a small community of Little Folk not far from my spring. They are a kindly folk but are filled with superstition and doubt. None will draw near to my healing spring for fear of me. They think I will cast a spell and drown them!" Willowsong laughed as if the idea of fearin' her were unthinkable. "You are not afraid of me, are you?"
Beannaithe shook her head in response.
"And why should you be, geared for battle as you are with your fine sword and your curious armour." Willowsong smiled at the lass.
Beannaithe were both surprised and delighted to learn of a community of Hobaid living nearby. Then the lass remembered her grandfather speakin' of communities of distant cousins many hundreds of years removed livin' in distant lands. They had travelled west of the Great River fleein' from the goblins and other dangerous creatures that lived in the valley of the Great River and the shadowy forest beyond.
"I do not know what ails the Little Folk, but I fear that that goblins from the eastern side of the marsh may be poisoning their water," said Willowsong.
"Goblins! Were there no end to their mischief?" Beannaithe thought as she listened to Willowsong's tale. "Had these unfortunate folk travelled so great a distance from their ancestral homes, undoubtedly sufferin' many hardships along the way, only to be met--or perhaps followed--by more goblins?"
"I ask that you gather some herbs," said Willowsong. She described their shape, colour and fragrance in great detail. "You will find them near the edge of the road that runs near to the Big Folk ruins. Do you understand?"
Beannaithe nodded, then did as Willowsong asked. The herbs were difficult to see in the twilight, so the lass lit a torch as she had in the Old Forest. The stench from the marsh masked the sweet perfume of the herbs. Nonetheless, Beannaithe was able to find the herbs that the river-maiden had described.
Willowsong rubbed the herbs that Beannaithe had gathered between her hands then smelled them. Her smile indicated that she were pleased with the quality of the herbs. She placed them in a bucket of water that she'd drawn from her spring.
"Here, take this bucket and empty its contents in the well in the nearby village," she told Beannaithe. "When you finish return the bucket to me. Will you do this?"
Beannaithe nodded once again.
"Thank you, little one. Before you leave you should also fill your flask with the water from Silverwell," Willsong advised Beannaithe. "You may find yourself in need of its healing waters."'
'Did Beannaithe do as Willowsong requested?' asked me granddaughter Darowva.
'Aye,' I replied.
'And were the Wee Folk of the village healed,' asked Diolun.
'Aye,' I said.
'Afterwards did Willowsong cast a spell on poor Beannaithe and drown her?' Daibhidh asked with a laugh and a wicked grin.
I did not dignify the lad's question with an answer. He were obviously havin' me on, and I did not wish to encourage that sort of behavior.
'Where did Beannaithe and Mac go next?' asked Dooli.
'That part of the story will have to wait until the next story time,' said me daughter Banba who'd just finished her chores in the kitchen.
'Aw!' me grandkids moaned.
'Why complain you so?' asked me other daughter Fódla. 'Ye can barely keep your eyes open as it is."
'Some things never change!' said me oldest daughter Ériu with a laugh.
'Don't ye count on it, daughter,' I softly said to her. 'They'll be grown with wee ones of their own before you know it.'
Ériu gave me a sharp look but said nothin'.
'Oíche mhaith, Granda!' the wee ones cried out to me as their mothers led them to their beds.
'Oíche mhaith, me darlin's!' I called after them.
