Destiny's Path Read Online Free PDF

the owl-girl was giving her. “You know what she is!” she said to Rhodri, not caring that the girl could hear her. “You know why she was sent here! Tend her wound, by all means—but then we’re going to leave her here and go to my mother—whether her master likes it or not.”
    Blodwedd got to her feet. “You must not go east,” she said. “Your destiny lies elsewhere—in the place where the Saxon hawks circle above the house of the singing gulls.”
    â€œMy destiny lies where I choose,” snapped Branwen. “Come, Rhodri. Lead me to the stream. You may work your skills on her—then we two shall return to Cyffin Tir.” She looked at Blodwedd. “And you will not follow us!”
    â€œI must,” said Blodwedd.
    â€œTry and you will regret it,” said Branwen, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword.
    â€œWhat will you do?” Rhodri asked gently. “Kill her? This is not her fault, Branwen—you heard what she said. Blame Govannon if you need to blame anyone.”
    â€œWhere is the stream?” Branwen asked dismissively.
    â€œThis way,” Rhodri said, his voice subdued. “Blodwedd, come with us. I want to wash the wound first.”
    The stream was not far away. It ran through a narrow stone gully, splashing cold over boulders and mossy ridges. As Rhodri had said, the two horses were close by, their reins held under a large stone and their heads down as they grazed.
    Rhodri got the owl-girl to squat at the side of the tumbling stream while he soaked some of the broad comfrey leaves and gently dabbed with them at the small wound in her shoulder.
    â€œGood, good,” he murmured, wiping the dried blood from her dark skin. “It’s not as bad as I feared—and the wound is clean.” He began to shred the plants, wetting them in the stream and laying them on a flat gray stone. “This is wormwood,” he told her, holding up the fernlike leaves with their haze of fine white hair. “It will prevent the wound from becoming inflamed. And this,” he said, showing her the spiral leaves on the long stem, “this is mullein, for the pain.”
    Branwen stood behind him, prepared to help if asked, but unwilling to volunteer. A strange anger, like a fist tightening, grew in her stomach as she listened to Rhodri explaining the uses of the herbs to the owl-girl. Why was Rhodri speaking to her as if she was a chance companion met upon the way? She was no such thing. She was a creature of the Old Gods.She wasn’t even human!
    I have half a mind to draw my sword and swipe her head off as a warning to the Shining Ones to leave me be!
    She eyed Blodwedd uncertainly. The owl-girl looked smaller than ever now, her slim legs folded up under her as she watched Rhodri pound the herbs and grind them to paste.
    She looks more like a frog than an owl! A scrawny little frog squatting on a rock. Why is Rhodri taking so long?
    â€œI need something to bind the poultice to your arm,” Rhodri said. “I would rip a length of cloth from my clothes, but they’re so ragged I’d be concerned they’d fall to pieces.” Branwen felt a pang—he had said something very similar to her on their first meeting. She had torn the hem of her riding gown for him to bind the wound in his leg.
    Not this time. Not for her!
    Rhodri’s head turned toward her. “Branwen? Do we have anything that we could use as a bandage?”
    You’re not getting a piece of my clothing!
    â€œThe bag you brought the food in, perhaps,” she said aloud. “Do you want me to tear a length off?”
    â€œPlease.”
    Branwen stepped over the stones to the grassy place where the horses were grazing. Retrieving the bag, she ripped a length from the mouth and brought it back.
    â€œPerfect,” said Rhodri, taking it from her. He smiled at Blodwedd, his voice soft and coaxing. “Itwill feel cold and a little