Louise Louise

16 April 2000; White Hare Hill, County Armagh, Northern Ireland, UK
Ken, his eyes closed, sighs, and back soaks in the warm Irish sunshine raining down on the Vinces' hillside.
""/baaa,"" says a sheep.
""Baah,"" replies Murron.
""/baaaaa!""
""Baaaah!""
A sheepy snort.
""Baa?""
Quiet.
""Baa?""
Nothing but birdsong.
""Is it something I said?""
Distantly: ""/baa.""
""Aww ... lambikins, please?"" whines Murron.
Even more distant: ""/baa.""
Ken sighs again, shifts his shoulders against the grass.
""Do you think your parents would keep sheep in their new garden?""
"There's not enough space for sheep to be happy."
""But there's grass?""
"Not enough to feed even one."
""What if it's a really, /really small sheep?""
"There's probably some kinda ordinance against sheep of any size."
""That's stupid.""
"That's living in towns for you."
""Promise we'll live in the country someday?""
Ken opens his eyes, props himself up on his elbows. "If we can afford it, we'll live in the country. Promise."
Murron sparkles at him.
He bows his head. "/If we can afford it."
She bumps his shoulder. "I'll be working, too, you know."
"Mum and Da both work and they can /just afford a semi-detached with a tiny garden in Greenock, nothing like a country place."
Murron pokes him.
Ken looks up.
"I thought the new house was bigger and better than the one that got taken away?"
Ken controls a wince. "It is, but it's nothing like—" Waves at the fields and sheep and roofs beyond the trees. "—this. This's ... /magical."
Murron furrows her brow. "We're magical, too?"
Ken rolls his eyes. "Maybe, but this's like The Blessing, yea? With sheep instead of papol and pixies?"
"Ooo! I want a corgi, too!"
He raises an eyebrow. "One dog in the house won't be enough for you?"
"Wolves aren't dogs and you're only one once a month," she pouts.
"Which's a good thing."
Murron presses against his side. "I love you even when you're not fluffy."
Ken sniffs.
"Want me to show you?" She leans in close.
Ken's eyes cross trying to focus on her face.
"We can snog some more?"
He flicks a glance over his shoulder, then at his watch. "Umm, that'd be ... nice, but I think we need to get back to Missus Hughes's house before she comes looking for us."
Murron makes a disappointed noise.
"Maybe later, though?"
"/Definitely later."
Ken shifts, shakes fluff from his brain. "O-okay. Let's get back."
"One kiss?"
Melting a little, Ken nods, sits up, tilts his head—"You still taste like apples."
Murron blushes, freckles hiding in the pink. "I, um, had another lolly while you were napping."
"I fell asleep?"
"Yep!" Murron hops to her feet, pulls Ken up, grins. "You snore."
Ken dusts off his bum. "Probably caught it from Royal."
"I don't think snoring's contagious?"
"Maybe Royal hexed me, then."
Murron takes his hand, ambles them toward the border between the Vinces' and the neighbours' land. "I think you—does your da snore?"
"Well, yea—"
"Then you probably caught it from him!" she crows.
Ken huffs, scrambles over the top rail of the fence, offers a hand—
"/baaaaaaaa," wails a sheep in the most /pitiful tone Ken's ever heard.
"What do you—Murron?"
But she's sprinting along the fenceline.
Ken launches himself after her.
When he catches up, Murron kneels beside a dejected-looking black sheep.
"The poor dear's stuck," she announces.
Sure enough, the walking yarn ball's horns are tangled in a nasty blackberry thicket.
Murron tugs at the thorny branches.
"/baaaaaaaa."
"I know, sweetie, I know," coos Murron. "We'll have you outta here in—ow!"
"Get stabbed?"
"Mhmm," she answers around her thumb. "Foopid forns."
"/baaaaaaaa."
Murron strokes the sheep's back with her uninjured hand.
"Lemme see where you got stuck."
She holds out her hand, thumb up.
Ken uncurls her fingers, takes a deep breath, Focuses.
Murron waits, watching.
"/baaaaaaaaaaa."
Ken controls a startle, re-Focuses, gently kisses Murron's thumb, then the red marks across her palm.
"You healed it!" she breathes.
He offers a crooked smile. "Practice, practice."
Murron laughs.
"/baaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Ken frowns. "Maybe we should tell Mister Vince about her?"
"But she must be hungry! There's no grass left!" Murron waves at the circle of trimmed greens around the sheep.
Ken bites his lip, shuffles his feet.
"/baaaaa."
"I know, sweetie."
Sheep closes its eyes, leans into Murron's touch.
Ken pops up straight, rips off big handfuls of green from his side of the fence, crouches, offers them.
"/baa!" Sheep munches happily, going all Hoover on the food.
Murron beams.
Ken wipes slobbery palms against his trousers, smiles. "That should keep her from starving while we get Mister Vince."
"We'd better hurry!" She pats the sheep on the head. "We'll bring help!"
"/baaaaaaaa!"
Murron hesitates.
Ken tugs her sleeve. "The sooner we go—"
"Right!" Murron throws herself over the fence, grabs Ken's arm, drags him across the Fegans' garden at a jog, and out onto the lane.
A figure strolls along, whistling.
Murron breaks into a dead run—
Ken stumbles, barely keeping his feet.
—hollers, "Mister Vince! There's a sheep—"
"Stuck in the blackberries?"
"Yes?" Murron skids them to a stop.
Mister Vince laughs. "That's Brenda. She can get herself loose whenever she wants. Loves the attention, Brenda does."
"But the grass—"
"She keeps the whole bottom of the field cropped short on the off chance someone'll appear to spoil her. She does especially well when the Rises have company in."
Murron blinks, then bursts into a bright smile. "Brenda's really smart."
"Too smart for my liking. She'll teach the flock bad habits," snickers Mister Vince. "Now, you two are headed up to see Missus Hughes, yea?"
"Yep!"
"It just so happens I need to return her casserole dish." Mister Vince tilts his head toward the cloth bag he carries. "If you don't mind the company ...."
"We don't!"
"Then, on we go!"
They stroll along.
Mister Vince whistles, Murron adding odd (but pretty!) harmonies all the way down the lane.
"You're quite the singer!"
Murron preens, opens the Hughes's gate. "Thank you~!"
Ken shuffles through, headed for the front door.
Mister Vince follows. "If I may ask, where'd you learn those intervals?"
"My mummy taught me."
"Ah! I should've recognized it as selkie-song. Your people have such a beautiful musical tradition. It puts ours to shame in a lot of ways."
Murron huffs, grumbles, "I wish Mister Sweeney thought so."
"Oh?"
"He's /always telling me I'm singing wrong notes."
"Sweeney wouldn't know a good song if it bit his arse," puts in Ken.
Murron ducks her head.
"Don't let your teacher discourage you. Some people only appreciate a narrow range of music." Mister Vince pat-pats her shoulder. "/I know real skill when I see it."
"Thank you, Mister Vince."
"No bother, love."
Ken trips to a halt—
"/A-OWW," squawks one of the Hughes's phoenix friends, strutting across Ken's path.
—grumps, "I see you, ye feather-duster. Yer kinda hard t'miss."
"/A-OOO!"
Murron giggles, falls into step for the last bit of the path, with Mister Vince following.
Ken raps on the wide open door.
"Come in! Come in!" calls Missus Hughes from one of the front room sofas, where she sits next to Mister Hughes, waving them in. "And you've brought a friend!"
"Just dropping by to return your dish. Harri and I /loved your casserole," says Mister Vince.
Ken and Murron plunk side-by-side on the other sofa.
"Good, good! Set that thing on the coffee table, Martin, and take a seat."
"I don't want to interrupt—"
"Nonsense! We'll make you part of the lesson!"
Ken swallows.
Murron takes his hand in hers, squeezes.
He squeezes back.
Mister Vince claims a stuffed chair, cheers, "Well then, me first!"
"Uh ... okay?"
Mister Vince beams, settles deeper into his cushions.
Ken takes a deep, deep breath, sorts his Focus, Reaches for Mister Vince.
Shapes dart through fog.
Ken grits his teeth.
The mist thins.
"Music ... /definitely music." Ken Reaches deeper, squints. "A kitchen and ... soup?"
"You've got it, lad! Always have a song in my head and I need to get myself back home to help Harri with lunch." Mister Vince grins at Ken. "You've come a long way in half a year!"
"Thank you, sir. I've been practicing a lot."
"With me!" chirps Murron.
"Aha! That explains the shape of your new barriers," puts in Missus Hughes.
"You were peeking?"
"I was and you got me good and lost, young man. /Excellent work."
Ken lets himself puff up a little.
"What do you see when you look in his head?" asks Murron.
Missus Hughes taps a finger against her lips. "Well, it starts out like a cozy bookstore, but the little aisles keep twisting and branching. Then you notice there are plants trailing down the bookcases—"
"It sounds so pretty!"
"It's positively lovely! Especially once you notice the way the light sparkles and wavers because you're /under water."
Murron turns to Ken, eyes wide. "You made it an ocean?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "It just sorta happened? I was trying to come up with a way to make it /big and the sea's the biggest thing I could think—oof!"
Murron squashes him with one of her hugs.
"Wh-wha—?"
"You're like me now!"
Ken blinks rapidly, laughs a little. "Yea, I guess I am."
"Maybe you'll even be able to read me soon!"
"Hopefully," sighs Ken.
"Still not able to see her mind clearly?" asks Mister Vince.
Ken eases some distance from Murron. "Not yet. It's gotten brighter, though, and I can /almost see things."
"Brilliant! You must really be putting in a lot of effort," says Missus Hughes.
"I don't know ... I'm only ...." He shrugs.
"Ken, love, I took a full five years to get /anything from a non-human mind, even an 'almost'."
Ken's Spot remains still.
"R-really?"
"Really." Missus Hughes nods. "You're becoming a very skilled truth-sayer."
Ken blushes.
Murron squeezes his hand, smiles big and bright at him, whispers, "You're so cool."
He bows his head.
"/mau?"
Murron sits bolt upright. "Kitty?"
"It seems Mo's seen fit to join us," drawls Mister Hughes, looking up from his newspaper.
"/mau," sniffs Mo, sauntering across the rug.
"Hello, Mo-kitty~!"
"/mau-au." Mo hops onto the sofa, flows into Murron's lap, and curls up, purring.
"How is Mo these days?"
"You know her: either asleep where she shouldn't be or up to something she shouldn't be."
Mister Vince snorts a laugh.
Murron digs her fingers into the fur across Mo's shoulders.
Something tickles Ken's mind.
He glances behind them. "Is someone else here?"
"Not that I know of, lovie. Why do you ask?"
"'cos I can sorta feel another mind?"
Missus Hughes leans forward. "Really? What does it feel like?"
"Well, uh, it's not really strong or organized." Ken snorts. "It's sorta like Kris's—this kid we babysit's—actually. Simple shapes, simple colours, kinda quiet. That sorta thing."
"Impressive," intones Mister Hughes.
"What is?"
"You're already sensitive enough to pick up on child minds."
Murron wrinkles her forehead. "So there /is a kid around?"
"Well—"
""Knock, knock~!""
Ken and Murron twist around.
Mad Rory and his ginger mate smile from the doorway.
"'morning, lads," greets Mister Hughes. "What can we do for you?"
"It's what we can do for /you," replies  Rory. "We're headed into town and'll run any errands you need run." He locks onto Ken, adds, "Sorry to interrupt your mind-reading lessons."
"M-my wha?"
"Mind-reading, truth-saying, psychic powers?" Rory bounces on his toes. "I know you've got the gift. You've always had a tell."
Ken huffs, crosses his arms.
"He's smarter than he lets on, yea?" snickers Ginger (the fuck's his /name?)
"If he wasn't, you boys would've been stitched up long ago, what with all the mischief you've gotten up to over the years," says Missus Hughes.
"Simple high spirits from a pair of simple country lads," laughs Rory.
"You and Devin are /anything but simple."
"Me, sure, but Rory—hey!"
Rory removes his elbow from Devin's ribs, fixes Ken with a manic grin. "Read my mind."
"I don't—"
"Go 'head!"
Ken swallows, Reaches.
An moment's stiff resistance; an absolute /explosion of butterflies.
Ken flinches.
"Are you alright?" asks Murron.
He nods, re-centers himself, holds dead still.
The butterflies refuse to stop moving, light glinting painfully off their broken glass wings.
Ken drops his Reach, rubs his temples.
"Well?" prompts Mister Vince.
"I can't make head or tail of it. It's just ... colours and shapes with no order."
Mad Rory preens. "My brilliant plan's working, then."
"Wha?"
"If even /I'm not sure what I'm gonna do next, nobody—not even a truth-sayer—can beat me to the punch."
"That's pretty clever," says Murron.
"Ain't it just?"
"That doesn't ...." Ken shakes his head clearer.
"Do Rise!" chirps Rory, waving toward Devin.
Ken rolls his shoulders, Reaches out, nudges aside a tad of push-back.
Green grass, butterflies which barely react to his presence, sunning themselves around a stone fountain.
"Driving, a town, a street fair, and, umm—" Ken frowns, releases Devin's mind, rubs the back of his neck. "—someone named Louise you, umm, like a lot?"
Mister Hughes raises an eyebrow. "/Another girlfriend?"
Devin shrugs.
Rory whacks him on the back, sings, "You're a very pretty girl, Louise~"
Devin groans—
"~but are the things you say just meant to tease~"
—sticks his fingers in his ears—
"~I'm doubled up on bended knees~"
—whines, "I /hate this pop nonsense—"
"~tell me, precious, tell me please~"
"—so, God help me, if you don't stop—"
"~I know these melodramatics—oi!" Rory staggers away from Devin's shove.
"Take it outside, boys," orders Mister Hughes.
"I'll make sure they behave," says Mister Vince, standing. "I need to be getting back to Harri anyway." He herds Rory and Devin toward the door.
Rory pushes back. "Wait!"
Mister Vince stops.
"There anything we can do for you?"
"We've everything under control. Enjoy your errands," says Missus Hughes.
"Will do~!" Mad Rory salutes, saunters out with Devin and Mister Vince hustling in pursuit.
"Always lively when they're about," sighs Mister Hughes.
"/mrrau," grumps Mo.
"You're one to talk after leaving that rodent in my shoe this morning."
Mo squints at Mister Hughes, purring loud enough for Ken to hear.
"You have absolutely no shame."
"She's a cat, Will-dear. None of them have shame."
"I think she's a sweet kitty, bringing you presents," declares Murron.
Mo pools smugly, keeps with the purring.