Free To Ride A Púca by Heather McCorkle

liked the simple beauty of this one. Maybe it was just because Dierdre was wearing it.
    “It’ll do for the village. Come on, I’ll escort ye there,” she said as she grabbed a cloak off a peg by the door.
    Shock rooted Neala to the spot for a moment. “Why the village?” she asked as she rushed to catch up with her.
    Dierdre waved a hand and turned toward the barn. “It’s a lovely day for a ride and besides, ye’ll need someone to escort ye home. Bren should be just about finished with his work for the day.”
    A mixture of dread and excitement churned in Neala’s stomach. She wanted to see Bren. In fact, she hadn’t realized how bad until the possibility was presented. But going into a strange village where she didn’t know anyone did not sound appealing. Going into a village where she was known was bad enough.
    “No Dierdre, really ye don’t have to. It was not my intent to impose upon ye,” Neala protested.
    With a heave, Dierdre slid the barn door open and stepped in to the nickered greeting of a horse. The scents of hay and horse mingled with that of dried herbs in a manner that was odd but not unpleasant. It reminded Neala of something. Her eyes were drawn up to the hayloft. Hanging from the rafters above the bundles of hay was every herb she could imagine and several she couldn’t. On the floor level there were two stalls on one side of the barn and a makeshift forge and an anvil on the other. This explained why Bren smelled like spices and steel. It looked like his private area for blacksmithing.
    “Ye are not imposin’. I have to go into the village to see the butcher today anyway,” Dierdre said as she headed for the horse’s stall.
    Left with no other argument, Neala followed along. Soon they were both mounted up and riding through the dense forest on a trail that looked like it was used by deer more often than by horses. The sun was barely able to slip through the thick pine boughs overhead, but considering how warm the day had become, Neala didn’t mind. The cool shade felt wonderful and helped keep Dubh from overheating. Dierdre chatted companionably, asking about Neala’s family and home. The woman was a good listener which made her easy to talk to, but she also had a knack for filling the silence when Neala didn’t know what to say.
    Unlike her parents, Dierdre talked openly about being a druid and said that the more they used their power the closer they were to the circle of life. When discussing this with her, Neala was careful to skirt around how her own parents felt about it. It both fascinated and angered Neala to know that other druids didn’t suppress their nature. When they stepped from the forest onto a road Dierdre abruptly changed the conversation to talk about the village. Apparently her openness only went so far as the safety of the forest. But then Neala could hardly fault her for that. Embracing being a druid in your own home was one thing but talking about it in public only invited trouble.
    The village looked a lot like her own, with houses around its borders and people working in the fields to either side of the road. People smiled and waved as they rode by. Some even called out in greeting. That was very different from her village. Either these people didn’t suspect Dierdre was a druid or they didn’t care. The second option didn’t seem very likely.
    A touch of Neala’s leg moved Dubh closer to Deirdre’s horse. Dierdre tensed and cast Dubh an anxious look before covering it with a flutter of her long lashes. A small pain pierced her heart. Of all people, she didn’t want Dierdre to believe the silly rumors about Dubh just because he was a big, spirited, black horse. She knew she should give the woman some space to make her comfortable, but there was something she had to know first. She leaned over and whispered, “Do they know what ye are?”
    Dierdre gave her a wide-eyed look. “Course not,” she whispered.
    Neala shifted Dubh away from Dierdre’s