Ninian watched from her bed as the man clothed himself; bronze skin shining in the firelight, his muscles rippling with the undeniable maleness that poured from his perfect body. As he finished tying the last lace on his boot, he rose to his feet and strode to her side. His eyes flickered seductively, and he kissed Ninian's swollen lips once more, reminding her of the spiraling heat of their lovemaking. Something deep inside Ninian clenched. Then he turned 'round and stepped out the door.
Ninian let out a wanton sigh, and slid out from underneath the coverlet. She reached for her robe and pulled it on, walking towards the casement. Her younger sister could be seen moving along the shoreline. Morrigan had been restless for the past few days, and the restiveness had not ceased as had been expected. Perhaps it was the ongoing Beltane celebration, for the fires of that Night lit a searing flame of passion in all who dwelt upon the island of Avalon, as well as they who came to stay for that night alone.
Yet Morrigan had nothing to trouble her; she was yet a maid, and was likely to remain so, and she had not the Sight that her older sister possessed, or at least it was not as clear as it had once been. She could not perceive that awful darkness rising in the East, the Dark Lord creeping towards his throne of immeasurable power. Ninian inhaled slowly, straining to wash the hideous specters from her mind. Turning away from the sill, the Lady of the Lake sat in her chair by the hearth and stared into its depths, striving to collect her scattered thoughts. As she pondered, a familiar face flickered from time to time in front of her eyes…
Morrigan had wandered on the beach for quite some time. She could hear the echoes of the feasting and the roaring bonfires, where so many now were. Sensuality hung on the air like dew on the silky petals of the rose; sounds of ardor unleashed mingled with the soft sighs of the water lapping upon the sandy shore, and Morrigan felt her cheeks flame with virginal discomfiture. She could see her sister in her mind's eye, watching the celebrations from the confines of her chambers, still dressed in her ceremonial robes, the crescent moon upon her forehead a brilliant blue.
A splashing startled the girl from her thoughts. As she lifted her head, Morrigan was openly startled. From out of the watery nadir came a man, or was it a boy? Ageless he seemed in the half-light, slim, and sinewy. He was dressed in robes of blue, and on his head was crowned a wreath of shells that seemed glowing in the milky light from the round moon.
As he drew nearer, Morrigan was surprised that she did not move away. Instead, she found herself reaching for him, and as his arms wrapped around her, Morrigan looked up into his face. His eyes were wise and ancient, the very color of the sea after a storm. Morrigan reached up and traced a finger over the man's brow, then down to his strong chin. His lips touched to hers, and Morrigan found herself swirling up, up, up…