“You’re not my mother,” Ciaran said. Disappointment and cold shock washed over him. He wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders, staring bleakly at Brenna.
“What made you think I was?”
“I could hear her,” he said. “She was calling my name.”
“I thought your mother was dead,” Brenna said.
Ciaran lifted his chin. “I could hear her.”
“You sure you’re not afflicted of the moon?”
“I heard her,” Ciaran insisted. He eyed Brenna’s sword warily. “Why are you down here again? I thought druids lived in the forest.”
“I’m not a druid - I just wear their colors.”
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