He misses the sea. He misses fresh milk, curds, shellfish, mushrooms, clean water, fish of a hundred kinds, tender herbs. He misses being able to kill a deer and cook it right there with all the things you need for a feast at hand – wild garlic and the like. He misses the mountains and he forests, and all the vistas and smells of Hibernia.

But he was the one that drew the lot. Fostered.

He came to Britain and another boy went to Hibernia. The exchange sealed the peace between his Tuath and this one in Britain. It was an exchange that protects the Briton chief’s western borders. It allows him to focus on the East… on the Saxons.

That said, it hasn’t been awful. The food is wholesome if not as good as he remembers. They use different spices and some dishes are just strange… but the bread is better. One thing though, Gaels know how to make drinks… the Britons don’t. The women are also lovelier… He doesn’t miss the monks. The Roman faith of Patrick never made much sense to him. But then again, he’s of Fae blood… that’s to be expected I should expect.

Ah well. He’ll manage.

He’s been treated well, he enjoys Britain well enough. The Saxons are a blight though, he can see why the Britons are worried. Ronan wonders if the Celts shouldn’t band together against these Eastern Sea raiders… they’re savages… and this coming from a Gael.