Alone in the kitchen, Aisling started washing and rinsing the dishes. The day-to-day chores of the hostel had become meditative for her, a way to distance her mind from the world, letting the task at hand be both conduit and barrier. As the youngest Awen of Ireland in centuries, and the first with no prior Awen to directly guide or mentor her, Aisling had used these times to find her way. Some would call me a seer, Aisling thought. Some—especially the Californians—seem partial to that word “shaman.”
She thought back to Jake Connemara standing before her, and regretted that it hadn’t been her grandmother.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish