Coup de cœur pour ce magnifique récit…. Il faut pouvoir apprécier la langue dans sa beauté, mais malgré tout, une traduction sommaire donnera probablement une bonne idée du contenu même si le côté littéraire sera « perdu » : « Home is where the Hearth is » par Scealai Beag.
Walking into the welcoming darkness of her home she moved towards the back and froze.
She was not alone.
Her eyes roamed the space as her hand drifted towards the blade at her hip, warrior instinct triggering a primal warning in the recesses of her brain.
The fire had been banked before she left for the Battle. Now it danced merrily in logs that must have been burning for hours, her cauldron strung over the heat, yet no scent of cooking filled the space.
The figure stood slowly, turning towards her.
As His eyes fell upon Her, the primal part of her brain shuddered and a need to fight or flee skittered its way toward her thoughts only to be crushed mercilessly by her Will.
She was the better of most and the equal of only one, She would dictate her path.
With gentle hands, he pulled the léine from her shoulders and the trews from off her legs.
With vestments of war left in a bloody pile on the rock, he lead her to the pool. As her foot touched the water she could not suppress her hiss of surprise.
The water, normally cool and refreshing, was warm as steam rose from its surface.
Turning her back to him She settled into the water, then felt his big gentle hands undoing her war braids one at a time, lifting water cupped in his palm to wash and work the blood and viscera from her mane.