Anna Collins stood and waited while her Granddad Willie Collins, continued the ritual of breaking a pony. She watched while the animal trotted in circles, first one way then the other, while he halted, stood, and then ran and cantered and trotted again, all the time she strained her ears to hear the commands given or see the signals thrown from the hand down a long rein to the halter, but was unable to determine any instruction at all. In truth, in the brightness of the day she could not even see the rein. Yet there must be one otherwise how could the man control the animal.
Yella Man Collins, was a small, hunched man, with an over big head, long out-sticking ears and a crop of wild red hair that at times stood high on his head, or lay matted tight after he took off his green bonnet. You could never call his head gear a hat, or a cap, only a long triangular bonnet. When he was in argumentative mood his beard and his ears bristled and moved with a motion known only to their owner.
Daideo Willie, liked people, onlookers, who came to watch him train ponies to be mesmerised at his skill, without rein, or whip, or spoken command to control the pony.
Anna knew that this illusion did not tell the story of the long hours under the full brilliance of a cloudless full mooned sky when those implements were used to train the animal to a stage where they were not required.
Fairy magic dust Willie called it. Anna's dad called it fairy cuteness.
Daideo, greeted her as usual, “Well Geartla. How's the care?”
Like always she replied, “I have no care.”
Then he chuckled and finished the statement for her, “That's right, You lot, the family, are my care. Today's task, Anna, is for you to start writing down the story of my secrets. No! A manuscript, Bedad. It will contain the secrets of the Rath Mór, the fairy home. I'm old now well over the allotted span.”
“How old are you Daideo? No one can tell me.”
“That's because I never told any of them. Let's say that the span of a man's life is long behind me, and the span of fairy life is nearly over.”
“I thought fairies were immortal?”
“That's what we tell the humans, but in my case living here, a changeling, among the humans has shortened my years. But that's old piseogs! I need to start the telling. Give you the tools to carry on some of my magic. To give you some fairy gifts.”
