And more: sunbright days of infinite light and pleasure; starbright nights of deep, deep slumber; seasons of goodness and right, each moment etched in elegant symmetry upon the soul; the slow Earth moving through its inexorable cycle of birth and rebirth, keeping faith with the Creator, fulfilling its ancient and honourable promise.

Great Light, I could not have loved you better than I did then.

For I saw, and I understood. I saw the order of creation; I understood the rhythm of life. The Hill Folk lived close to the order; they felt the rhythm in their blood. They had no need to understand it – they were part of it as it was part of them – but through them I learned to feel it; through them I became part of it, too.

My kinsmen, my brothers! The debt that I owe you can never be repaid, but know that I have never forgotten you, and as long as men hear and remember the old stories, as long as words have meaning you will live, even as you live in my heart.

I stayed with the Hawk People another year, one more winter and spring and summer, one more Beltane and Lugh-nasadh, and then I knew it was time for me to return to my own. As the days began to shorten, I grew uneasy – a light flutter of the stomach when I looked to the south, a slight lift of the heart when I thought of home, the tingle of expectation that in far-off courts the future substance of my life was being shaped, that somewhere someone was waiting for me to appear.

I endured these various sensations in silence, but Gern-y-fhain knew. She could tell that my time was short and one night after supper called me outside. I took her arm and we walked in silence up the hill to stand in the stone circle. She squinted up at the twilight sky and then at me. 'Myrddin-brother, you are a man now.'

I waited for what she had to say.

'You will leave fhain.'

I nodded. 'Soon.'

She smiled a smile so sweet and sad that it pierced my soul with its tenderness. 'Go your way, wealth of my heart.'

Tears rose to my eyes and my throat tightened. 'I cannot leave without your song in my ears, Gern-y-fhain.'

That pleased her. 'Will sing you home, Myrddin-wealth. Will be a special song.' She began composing it that night.

Vrisa came to me the next day. She and Gern-y-fhain had been talking and she wanted me to know that she understood. 'You would make good a husband, Myrddin-brother. I am a good wife.'

That was true. She would have been a good wife to any man. 'I do thank you, Vrisa-sister. But -' I turned my eyes to the southern hills.

'Needs must go back to your tallfolk rath,' she sighed. Then, taking my hand, raised it to her lips, kissed it, and placed it against her breast. Beneath the warmth of her soft flesh, I could feel the beating of her heart.

'We are alive, Myrddin-brother. We are not sky-folk or Ancient Ones that have no life. Be we blood and bone and spirit – firstborn of Mother's child-wealth… ' she nodded solemnly, covering my hand with both of hers. 'You know this now.'

Indeed, I never doubted it. She was so beautiful, yes, and so alive, so much a part of her world that I was tempted to stay and become her husband. Quite possibly I would have, too, but the road stretched out before me and I could already see my self on it.

I kissed her and she smiled, brushing back a lock of black hair. 'I will carry you in my heart always, Vrisa-sister,' I told her.

Three nights later we celebrated Samhain, Night of the Peace Fire, thanking our Parents for the blessing of a good year. As the moon crested the hills Gern-y-fhain lit the bonfire in the stone circle and I saw other fires on other distant hilltops round about. We ate roast lamb and garh'c and wild onions, and there was much talking and laughing, and I sang them a song in my own tongue, which they enjoyed even though they understood nothing of it. I wanted to leave them with something of my own.

When I finished, Gern-y-fhain rose and paced slowly around the bonfire three times in a sun-wise circle. She came to stand over me and stretched her hands over my head. 'Listen, People of the Hawk, this is the Leaving Song for Myrddin-brother.'

She raised her hands to the moon and began to sing. The tune was the old changeless melody of the hills, but the words were newly composed in my honour, recounting my life with the fhain. She sang it all: the night I had come to them, and my near sacrifice; my struggles with their language; our firelight lessons together; the incident with the tallfolk; the herding, the lambing, the hunting, the eating, the living.

When she finished, all sat in quiet respect. I rose to my feet and embraced her and then, one by one, the fhain came to say farewell – each taking my hands and kissing them in blessing. Teirn gave me a spear he had made, and Nolo presented me with a new bow and a quiver of arrows, saying, 'Do take this, Myrddin-brother. You will need it on your way.'

'I do thank you, main-brother Nolo. I will use it gladly.'

Elac was next. 'Myrddin-brother, as you are big as a mountain' – in truth, I had grown in my time with them and now towered over them all – 'you will be cold in winter. Do take this cloak.' He wrapped a handsome wolfskin cloak around my shoulders.

'I do thank thee, fhain-brother Elac. I will wear it with pride.'

Vrisa came last. She took my hands and kissed them. 'You are a man now, Myrddin-brother,' she said softly. 'You will need good gold for a wife.' She removed two golden bracelets from her arm and placed one on each wrist and then hugged me close.

If she had asked me to stay, I would have done so. But the matter was settled; she and the other women slipped away among the standing stones and in a little while the men went to them so that their eager love making would ensure another fruitful year. I returned to the rath with Gern-y-fhain, who offered me a blessing cup of heather beer, which I drank and then went to sleep.

Heavy-hearted, I left my Hill Folk family the next morning. They stood outside the rath and waved me away, the dogs and children running alongside my black pony as I made my way down the hill. I came to the stream in the valley where the children and dogs stopped, for they would not cross the water, and I looked back to see that the fhain had vanished. All that remained was the hilltop and the grey, sunless sky beyond.

I was in the tallfolk world once again.

I travelled south and east, hoping to strike the old Roman road that extended north of the Wall as far as Arderydd – or farther, for all I knew. This would lead me to Deva, City of Legions in the north, and the mountains of Gwynedd and the place where I had last seen my people. I had no better thought than to return to the hills and glens around Yr Widdfa where I had last seen the men searching for me. I never doubted whether there would be anyone there; I was certain of it, as I was certain of the sun rising in the east. They would search until they received word or sign that I was dead; without that they would search for ever.

I had only to cross their path. Time was growing short, however; one day soon the weather would break and the searchers would return home for the winter. Already the days were crisp and the sunlight thin. If I did not find them soon, I would have to ride all the way to Maridunum – a most difficult and dangerous journey for one alone.

By riding from before sunrise until well after sunset, I was able to traverse the wide, empty land with some speed. The main had come far north with the seasons. I did not realize how far north until I saw the great Celyddon Forest raising its black hump before me on the horizon. Apparently, we had skirted the forest to the west a year ago when travelling to winter quarters. And though the quickest route to the south lay through the forest's dark heart, I was loathe to take it.