Itʼs holy water if you can say
That the chemical reactions youʼve been causing
Can qualify me as a saint
Cause Iʼve been feeling like a martyr for the past two years
22nd June, 1894 — Fairtree Farm celebration
Selwyn Manor was not exactly next door to Avalon Glen, it was halfway across Wales, but Trystan had another reason to have bothered to come to this. It might not be a good one, but – curiosity was as irresistible as anything. (An inaccessible village, and a hunch; a woman he hadn’t forgotten; a leisurely quest to fill his time.)
If he had dressed down, and made a few casual alterations to his appearance (darkened his hair, changed his nose a little), it was mostly to keep a low profile here. As the afternoon wore on, he had admired the hand-hewn furniture, and watched some of the childrens’ games of tug-of-war and the men’s chopping wood. Apparently there was a bonfire set to start when the sun went down, though Trystan knew he probably shouldn’t linger.
For now, though, he had been left to his own devices re-planting a sapling – and it was entertaining to get his hands dirty. Until a young girl came wandering over – Trystan paused, watching as she made a beeline for the freshly upturned earth where he was supposed to be planting the sapling. “Well, hello,” he greeted her in amused surprise, happy to wait and let her have her fun, if she wanted to play in it first – but he cast his gaze around swiftly, wondering if she had a parent or a guardian in tow close behind. Oh, and there she was. Trystan raised a hand to greet or warn her, gesturing lightly at the little girl. “Is she yours?”
If he had dressed down, and made a few casual alterations to his appearance (darkened his hair, changed his nose a little), it was mostly to keep a low profile here. As the afternoon wore on, he had admired the hand-hewn furniture, and watched some of the childrens’ games of tug-of-war and the men’s chopping wood. Apparently there was a bonfire set to start when the sun went down, though Trystan knew he probably shouldn’t linger.
For now, though, he had been left to his own devices re-planting a sapling – and it was entertaining to get his hands dirty. Until a young girl came wandering over – Trystan paused, watching as she made a beeline for the freshly upturned earth where he was supposed to be planting the sapling. “Well, hello,” he greeted her in amused surprise, happy to wait and let her have her fun, if she wanted to play in it first – but he cast his gaze around swiftly, wondering if she had a parent or a guardian in tow close behind. Oh, and there she was. Trystan raised a hand to greet or warn her, gesturing lightly at the little girl. “Is she yours?”
