"Give it back!" Glynn shouted at her. "Our tad gave it to me. It makes fire."

Rhonwyn shrugged and handed him hack his prize.

"Was the baby born?" ap Gruffydd asked his daughter.

She shrugged. "I don't know," she replied, shoving bread and cheese into her mouth. "I didn't look."

He nodded, understanding. He would have to look. "Has the rain stopped yet, Rhonwyn?"

"Aye."

"I'll go and dig a grave for yer mam, he said.

"Put it where she can see the sunset," the little girl said. "Mam always liked to watch the sunset."

He nodded and went outside. Taking the shovel from the side of the cottage nearest Vala s garden, he sought for a westerly direction. The storm had gone, and the skies were clearing now. Finding the right spot, he began to dig. What was he to do with his children? he considered as he worked. While there was a truce between him and the English for now, there was still no place he really called home. Besides, it would be far better if as few people as possible knew of these two little ones. Even bastards had their relevance. They could be exploited by his enemies or used to cement treaties. Particularly as he had no other children. He had been faithful to Vala, for he had little time for his own amusement. Besides, there had never been a woman who pleased him like this descendant of the Fair Folk had.

The earth was soft with the rain, and he was quickly able to dig the grave. Setting the shovel aside, he went in to fetch the body. Vala's face was at peace, although her body was stiff and contorted. Between her outstretched legs, amid the black and thickened blood, he saw the child. It would fit neatly into his palm, but it was perfectly formed. "You would have had a sister," he told Rhonwyn and Glynn. "Get me a basin, lad, and you, lass, put on a kettle of water to warm. Your mam and your sister will go to their grave clean."