In with the new...

Characters: country (human) -human age- -approx. country age-:

Britannia: Albion (Epona) -22- -2800-

Scotland: Caledonia (Alasdair) -13- -900-

Ireland: Ierne (Conaire) -10- -something- -doesn't really matter-

Northern Ireland: Ulaid [Ulster] (Caiside) -9- -something-

Wales: Siluria (Elisedd) -7- -500-

England: Younger-Albion/Anglaland ([none]) -3- -0-

Túath: an Old Irish word referring to a geographical place and the people on it

Takes place around A.D. 400. The Angles have just about arrived, though they may have been here for a few decades earlier.

And yes, Anglaland will not be used for about four hundred more years, but humor me.

(One last thing: it would make a lot more sense to me if the British Isles had more personifications than six at this time, but I didn't want to include any OCs… (well, unless N. Ireland counts as an OC… but he and his sibling are only mentioned once or twice) )

They knew she was weak. If she were strong and whole, they would not be there. They knew she had once held the two islands in her hands, but now she clung onto only a tiny bit of the share, splitting the rest with her children.

Albion, his mother, Caledonia knew, was withering away slowly. It was painfully obvious that soon one day she would be gone, especially with the appearance of Siluria, with brown hair inherited from their cousins to the south and the east, but who shared the bright and intense green that characterized all of their kind located on Hibernia and Britannia (as he had heard their islands called by a past invader).

She was dying because they were not united anymore—their cultures still looked very much the same and their language still sounded similar, but year after year Caledonia found it harder to understand his brothers, especially the two living on the second smaller island, Ierne and Ulaid, so much that sometimes he had to speak like he had spoken centuries ago to be understood. They were growing apart, and since their mother had been the living form of their closeness, she was fast disappearing.

There were also the newest invaders, following the leaving of the Romans, those cowards who had offered protection with their conquering but now could not uphold their promise. The Angles, he heard their names whispered among the swaying grasses, who were gaining traction as more and more Romans left. Their mother, Epona—not Albion—was unconsciously desperately trying to assimilate, just like they all had during the Roman conquest, her one last grasp at survival. She was becoming more alien to herself, but it was too much. She was old, and she had already done so once before. Despite the slipping of ugly foreign words from the alien invaders and the faraway looks she now cast to the east, it was simply too much. She could not change enough to become like them, and trying to was killing her faster.

But the last slap in the face was the boy that followed Siluria into existence. Caledonia had found him wandering the forests, drawn to him like he was drawn to all of his kind, the Túath.

He had been out walking, just walking in the woods with no other intent, simply listening to the leaves that had freshly fallen crack underneath his footwear and feel the wind fly through his bright red hair. He had felt the presence of another one of them long before he saw him; it was a tickling sensation that could be described as neither warm nor cold.

It had been early morning, and he was sure that Siluria and his mother were still asleep some way away from where he was walking unattended.

He did not change his gait. Caledonia continued strolling along as the sensation became stronger and stronger until he could not deny its presence.

"Who's there?"

There was no reply. He was starting to grow uneasy. Who could be there? Surely, not the Roman, who had abandoned them the only time they needed his help?

Despite his innocent intentions, Caledonia had bought his bow and quiver with him on his morning walk. He gripped the woody weapon tightly, and repeated his question, "Who's there?"

A light scuffle reached his ears, finely tuned to the forest noises.

Caledonia fitted an arrow in his bow and drew it back.

A few more rustling noises sounded around him, and then a tiny voice called out, "Don't shoot!"

The squeakiness of the voice surprised him, and he let an arrow fly into a nearby tree with a loud THUNK!

"Oops," he muttered. "Sorry about that," he began more loudly, "er, I won't shoot again, I promise. Who are you?"

"You promise no more arrows?"

"Yes."

"All right!" The trust in the voice surprised Caledonia; the túath walking around must've been extremely young.

He first saw the tufts of blond hair poking out from behind the bushes, and then the small boy inched shyly out into the open, revealing his face.

Caledonia gasped and then could only stare at the boy, for he looked almost exactly like his mother. His eyes were the exact same shade of light green, with not a shadow of a difference. It was absolutely scandalous. But not as much as the next words.

"What is your name?" Caledonia asked cautiously. "I am called Caledonia, and was given the name Alasdair."

The boy tilted his head. "No one has given me one, but I feel that I am called Anglaland." A flash of confusion swept across the young one's face, and he then said, "Or perhaps Albion. Anglaland. Albion. I..."

Caledonia turned heel and left the forest as quickly as he could, not heeding any of the confused calls by the little one he left behind, lost and alone.

He had been quiet for most of the day, Siluria noticed. Caledonia was usually not so, always talking in his loud and brash voice, cheerful to the boot in order to keep their mother's spirits up. He knew this, because although he was as young as he was (five hundred, perhaps half the age of Caledonia), even he knew that mother Albion was dying.

But today the redhead had only spoken the barest necessities, and Siluria could tell that it was bothering their mother (though she had been too tired to ask why), and he could feel that it was bothering himself.

So that evening as Caledonia was tending the fire, casting a somber mood with his silence, Siluria went up to him and took it upon himself to tentatively ask what was wrong.

"Nothing," came his one-word reply.

"Of course something's wrong," Siluria persisted, his blue green eyes shining with determination to change his older brother back into himself.

"Why do you think that?"

"You're not talking."

"I'm talking right now, aren't I?"

"I meant you haven't been talking as much as usual."

The fire crackled and released a few sparks.

"So?"

The sparks flew into the night sky.

"So what's wrong?"

The sparks flew until they met the stars, and finally they disappeared into the void of darkness that coated the Earth.

"Nothing."

Siluria frowned as they reached this word again. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

No one spoke for the next few seconds (minutes?), the night air only punctuated by the sounds of a crackling fire.

"I don't believe you," Siluria accused.

Caledonia poked the embers with a stick until the stick managed to catch fire. "Fine, you want to know what's wrong?"

Siluria perked up and nodded. This was actually going somewhere now!

"Our mother," Caledonia cast a glance at the fatigued figure who raised her head at the mention of her, "is dying. The world is doing nothing. Actually, it is doing something, but it's just making things worse!"

His voice had escalated quite fast, so that the last word was almost yelled.

The young and old woman finally found the strength to speak. "Caledonia, what truly ails you?"

The boy shut his mouth though he looked as if he wanted to scream, and went back to staring at the dirt and ash near the bottom of the fire. His mother stayed silent for some time, and then made a move to stand up. Her sons watched as her old bones seemed to groan and creak as she stood, but did not offer any assistance because of the fiercely stubborn look she cast at the both of them, made even more frightening by the dancing flames. She strode towards Caledonia and placed her hands on his shoulders. "We will go hunting tomorrow, together."

The two brothers jerked in surprise, for she had not been out hunting for decades now. "My bow is old," she continued, "but it will still work."

Caledonia opened his mouth, "Mother..." and then closed it due to the hard lines on her face, her jaw set.

The two brothers did not sleep that night, peeking out from half closed eyes so they could watch their mother slowly, tiredly restring an old bow by dying firelight.

Epona had chosen the forest she knew that Caledonia had walked through the day before. She would have chosen it even if she did not know, because she could feel the newer túath's presence. Her connection to the land might've been fading, but it was still there, just a smidgen, and she knew. Siluria probably knew as well, because though he was not on his own land, their kind was always drawn to each other, no matter what. It made fighting in wars so much harder.

It was no use being angry at her son, though. Her time was coming to an end, and so she should enjoy it as much as she could. The time before morning was crisp, the air gently kissing her skin, the sky an ethereal blue as it prepped itself for the sunrise. It was a wonderful time to be alive.

Caledonia shifted his eyes uncomfortably as they walked, the newer presence becoming clearer as they went deeper into the wood. Siluria by this time had an inkling of an idea of what was going on, realization slowly creeping onto his face.

As for herself, she simply wanted to meet her successor before she died. The new one might not even be her direct successor; chances were, he, or she, represented the invading tribes to the east, and though she knew that she was becoming more drawn to the invaders, forming a connection with them, it would not be enough.

What a time to be alive.

She hummed a tune as she carried her bow—it was a dead weight in her arms, and she wasn't sure if she could actually shoot, but she carried it anyway, and she headed closer and closer towards the youngling túath.

She could feel Caledonia becoming more and more uncomfortable, perhaps even shameful, by the second, but this was not the time. She cast her sons a smile, to which they started at, but continued to walk on.

The presence now was so strong that it created a thrumming deep inside her inmost being, and she stopped. Her two sons stopped with her and gazed at her, not knowing what to expect.

She called out into the forest, "Young one, it is safe to come out."

There were rustling sounds nearby, but no one showed. Then the noises stopped.

The bow was heavy anyway. She dropped it to the ground, along with the quiver of arrows. It was quite freeing.

Her two sons stood to the side, doing nothing at first. Then, Siluria followed her example and also set down his weapons. Caledonia finally gave way and did the same.

The rustling returned, and the boy came out.

There were three quick intakes of breath—from all four but Caledonia, who had already seen the phenomenon. He watched silently as the younger Albion, Anglaland, whatever, traced the face of his mother with those eyes, the very same eyes.

They all stayed frozen for a few seconds more, and then the boy took one step, two steps, three steps forward. They all held their breaths as Epona reached forward to touch the boy's hair, and then—

She inhaled one long, tired breath, and then—

exhaled the words, "My time is done. It is yours."

And then, before their very eyes, she crumbled to dust.

Their kind could die, yes, and then one of two things would happen. Either their body would repair itself and spring back to life, or it would fade to nothingness and then they would find themselves walking restored on their lands in full health.

But Epona had just turned to dust and ash, with no outside force causing her any harm.

"No," Caledonia muttered to himself, and then raised his voice, "No, no, no."

He knew it would happen, but he was still unprepared. Siluria began to look frightened by the sudden turn of events, unconsciously backing away until he found himself up against a tree.

The boy simply looked confused, reaching towards the dust that was gathered at the place where Epona had stood seconds ago. Caledonia saw the action and strode forward and pushed the boy away. "Don't you dare do that."

His voice was low and threatening, and the boy's face began to match Siluria's, afraid.

Caledonia continued on, his tone becoming more menacing by the second. "You just killed her. You killed her!"

The boy began backing away as Siluria stepped forward, his voice a meer peep, "Alasdair, he's just a—"

Caledonia whipped around, face scarlet from fury, voice brimming with anger. "Don't you understand? Our mother is dead, and he," he flung a finger at the boy, pale-faced, terrified, "just killed her!"

The boy began to run, and disappeared fast into the brush as Alasdair yelled after him, "Next time you show face, I won't hesitate to put an arrow through you!" Then Caledonia crumbled as well, collapsing into a ball, wrapping his hands around his head and knees as he sobbed.

Siluria simply stood there motionless, speechless, as the sun just began to peek through the tree leaves, alighting morning on their mother's remains.

.

.

… and out with the old.

end.