Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to HiT Entertainment. All OCs belong to me.

Chapter 7

"Sam? Rise and shine! It's Saturday, and I want to go fishing."

I didn't respond. Even though I'd gone to bed at my usual bedtime the night before, I was still feeling rather tired. My throat was also a little sore. Charlie shook me gently.

"Sam? Wakey-wakey!"

Groaning, I pulled my blankets tighter around myself. "Ewch i ffwrdd, Charlie!"

Charlie went over to the doorway. "Mum! Sam's sick!"

I reluctantly sat up. "No, I'm not, Charlie! For the second time, leave me alone! I shouldn't need to spell it out in more than one language…"

Mum entered the room. "Stop shouting, boys! Charlie, go downstairs, please."

After Charlie had gone, mum came over to me. She smiled a little when she saw me. "Looks like you've finally caught chickenpox."

"Huh?"

Mum handed me a small mirror. I gasped when I saw that my face was covered in tiny red blisters.

"Oh, no!"

"It's okay, Sam," mum soothed. "Those spots will go away in about a week."

"A week?" I lay back down on my pillow, exhausted.

Mum gently patted my shoulder. "Does your throat feel sore?"

I nodded.

"Let me have a look. Open up."

I opened my mouth wide enough for mum to have a good look at my throat. "Will I live?"

Mum smiled. "Yes. Stay there. I'll be back in a minute."

I don't feel like going anywhere, anyway.

I'd almost fallen asleep by the time mum returned. She didn't try to wake me. Instead, she picked up one of my hands, and I felt her starting to cut my fingernails quite short. Curious, I opened my eyes.

"What are you doing, mum?"

"Those blisters are going to start itching very soon, but you mustn't scratch them," mum explained. "You won't be able to scratch them if you don't have any nails."

"That feels weird."

"I know. You'll soon get used to it. And they'll grow back quickly."

With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes. Mum finished cutting my nails, and then she left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

I awoke a few hours later with a raging thirst. My blisters had also started to itch, so I tried to scratch them. However, my short nails were completely useless. "Mum!" I shouted as loudly as I could. My throat was still sore.

Charlie entered my room. "Mum's busy with a patient. What do you want?"

"A drink, please Charlie."

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute. What drink do you want?"

"Water."

Charlie left. I continued trying to scratch my blisters. I ended up rubbing them instead.

"You mustn't scratch those, Sam," Charlie said when he returned with my water.

I drank some of the water before I responded. "They're so itchy though!"

"I'll go and see if mum has anything for you."

Mum and Charlie returned a few minutes later. Mum sat down on the edge of my bed, and she placed a hand on my forehead.

"At least you're not feverish. Here. I have some cream that will help stop the itch."

Mum began applying the cream liberally all over my body. It took a few minutes, but the itch started to ease at last.

"There now," mum said once she'd finished. "Does that feel better now?"

I nodded. "Diolch."

Mum smiled, and she kissed my forehead. "Would you like something to eat?"

I shook my head. Then, I settled back down to sleep. I heard mum and Charlie head over to the doorway.

"Sam will be okay, won't he, mum?" Charlie asked anxiously.

"Of course! He just needs to rest."

"But he hasn't eaten a thing all day!"

"Don't worry about him. Most people don't feel like eating when they're sick. It's perfectly normal. Just leave him alone for now. He might feel hungry later."

I didn't even hear mum close the bedroom door.

…

I slept for most of the day. Granddad woke me just before tea time.

"Sam? It's time to wake up, sleepy-head," he called gently when he touched my shoulder. I sat up with a low groan. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit better, I suppose," I muttered. "My throat's still sore though."

"Yes, your mum thought that might be the case, so she prepared this for you." And granddad placed a tray down across my lap. On it, was a steaming hot bowl of mum's homemade chicken soup, and a cup of jelly.

I licked my lips hungrily. Mum never let us have jelly unless we were sick, and her chicken soup was legendary. I picked up the spoon, and I began to eat the soup. Granddad smiled.

"Charlie was really worried because you weren't eating."

"I wasn't hungry until now," I explained between mouthfuls.

Granddad perched himself on the end of my bed while he watched me eat. "When you're feeling better in a few days, would you like to come out fishing with me?"

"Won't I have to go back to school?"

"Not until those spots disappear. You'll be contagious until they become scabs. I had chickenpox when I was about your age, so I won't ever get it again."

"So everyone keeps saying…" I sighed. "I wouldn't mind going fishing with you… But I'd rather go and explore Pontypandy Mountain again."

Granddad facepalmed himself. "No, Sam! The last time you did that, you got stuck on that ledge, remember?"

"I wasn't stuck! I was just having a rest. I could've climbed down…"

"It was a twenty-foot drop!"

I pouted. "Okay, so I got into trouble once. But I want to see what's on the eastern side."

"Not while you're recovering. And I mean that, Sam."

I exhaled deeply. "Okay, okay! Hey, could you tell me a story, please granddad?"

"Sure. Which one?"

"Tell me about the time our family helped defend Pontypandy Castle against the English invasion during the Welsh War of Independence. O, ac mae'n rhaid i chi roi gwybod i mi yn y Gymraeg!"

Granddad chuckled. "Iawn. Tua phedwar cant o flynyddoedd yn ôl, mae ein hynafiaid daeth mor ddiflas â rheol Saesneg, eu bod wedi penderfynu i ymladd yn ôl..."

…

By Wednesday morning, I was feeling much better and rather restless. I still had the spots, but at least they weren't as itchy as they had been. My sore throat had also gone away. While it wasn't raining, it was a rather dismal day. I joined the rest of the family downstairs for breakfast.

"What are you two planning to do today?" mum asked dad and granddad after Charlie had gone off to school.

"Well, since the sea is too rough for fishing, we thought we'd go and help farmer Joe bring his sheep down from the high pastures," dad replied. "He's been asking for some help. Sam can come too, if he likes."

"Really? Thanks, dad!"

"Well, it'll keep him out of mischief, if nothing else," mum said in agreement.

Before long, dad, granddad and I met up with farmer Joe at a gate on the Newtown Road. "I heard on the weather forecast that it's going to get foggy later," farmer Joe explained. "So, we need to ensure we all stay together. We don't want anyone to get lost. Right, let's go!"

"Wait!" I said. The adults looked at me. "Um, don't you need a sheepdog to herd the sheep?"

Farmer Joe smiled. "Nope! My sheep know me very well. We'll easily be able to herd them into the home pasture between the four of us."

I was confused. How on earth can anyone herd sheep without a sheepdog? Oh well. I guess I'll find out.

It took us over an hour to walk up to the high pastures. However, the fog had rolled in by then, and we couldn't see them. In fact, the fog became so thick, we could hardly see each other. I didn't mind. I was used to finding my way in the fog. Charlie and I had learned how to use our other senses to figure out exactly where we were.

But the high pastures were not an area I'd spent much time in. I tried to keep up with the adults, but due to my recent illness, I soon fell behind. I was just about to start shouting for them, when I saw something strange appear out of the fog in front of me. Curious, I walked closer to it.

Seconds later, the fog thinned a little, and I found myself standing outside an ancient stone circle.

"Oh, wow!" I breathed, completely amazed. I had no idea there were any stone circles near Pontypandy. I was just about to step inside the stone circle to take a closer look, when someone grabbed me by my shirt collar, and they yanked me backwards. A strangled scream escaped from my lips. The person spun me around to face them. "Granddad?" I squeaked.

"Oh, thank goodness I managed to stop you in time!" granddad gasped. "Come away from there…"

"Why?"

Once granddad was what he considered to be a safe distance away from the stone circle, he sat down on a log. Then, he pulled me onto his lap.

"Sam, you must NEVER go inside a stone circle."

"Why not, granddad?"

Granddad sighed before he continued. "Because that is a burial mound for an ancient Celtic warrior. The stones mark the perimeter of his tomb. If you go inside them, you'll wake his spirit, and then he'll haunt you until you die."

I buried my head against granddad's chest. "I'm sorry, granddad! I didn't know."

"Well, you do now. Let's get out of here. We need to find those sheep."

We started walking away from the stone circle. "Granddad? Are we really descended from the Celts?"

"Of course! Our family can trace it history back beyond the reign of Gruffydd ap Llywelyn, the first and only true King of Wales."

I was surprised to hear that. "So, we're descended from royalty?"

"You could say that. But you must be careful who you tell."

"Why?"

"Because not everyone you meet will respect our heritage. There are some people out there who believe that Wales and England should be the same country. They may not appreciate knowing that you are of royal Celtic descent."

I still didn't fully understand, but I knew that if granddad wanted me to keep something secret, he had a good reason for it.

We heard a whistle coming from our right. "Dad! Sam!" I heard my dad call. "We've found them!"

"Coming!" granddad called back. He smiled down at me. "Beth am fynd a'u helpu i talgrynnu i fyny y defaid."

To my amazement, farmer Joe was able to herd the sheep using only whistles to control them. Some of them were a little stubborn, so that's when dad, granddad and I helped. Before long, we'd managed to safely corral them into the home pasture.

"Farmer Joe?" I said while he ensured that the gate was latched properly.

"Yes, Sam?"

"How did you get the sheep to come to your whistle?"

"I've trained them that way. You see, the sheep know me as their friend, so they respond whenever they hear me whistle. If you ever make close friends with sheep, you can use whistles to get them to do whatever you want. Especially if the sheep have been in close contact with humans from the moment they're born. They become like puppies. It's a real art though, and it only works with small herds like this one."

"Can I try?"

"Sure. Do you know how to whistle?"

I nodded. "Granddad taught me." I climbed halfway up the gate. Once I had my balance, I put my thumb and middle finger in my mouth, and I whistled as loudly as I could. Within seconds, I had all of the sheep trotting towards me. "Uh, oh!"

"Whistle again in a slightly lower tone, and they'll stop," farmer Joe instructed.

I did so, and the sheep stopped where they were.

"Wow! That's amazing!" I gushed. I jumped down from the gate. "Thanks for showing me how to do that, farmer Joe!"

"No worries, Sam. You never know when little tricks like that could come in handy."