One gold coin would keep a family in peat for a month. Ciaran nodded and accepted the coin, then ducked around to the shed. He darted a nervous glance at his father, but Eoghan was still working and whistling to himself, assuming his son was still hard at work too.
Ciaran drew several bricks of peat out of the shed and wrapped them in old sacking for good measure before skittering back around the hut.
“Miss,” he began, and drew up short.
She was leaning against the wall, cradling a handful of bright, damning red.
It was druid blood magic.
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