The Fair Folk appear before her one dewy morning, before the sun can emerge in aid of prying eyes. In their arms they carry gifts of wool, herbs, gold—and a silver pendant fashioned in the likeness of her very own.
Angharad had dreamt of their visit so often that it came as a welcome memory. In her visions they sang an indiscernible song; one which sought to surface like a sprouting seed. Now, their voices ring clear as day: proclaiming joy, renewal, great loss, and greater faith.
The child, they sing, will paint the night sky with her light.