The New Chief
BRIACA WOKE TO the sound of her mother grinding wheat flour, the scraping noise setting her teeth on edge. Then she remembered. It had been a year since her father had disappeared, and today he would be declared officially dead. Her throat tightened with grief. Each day she had scanned the horizon for his ship returning, and each day she had walked back to their hut, dejected and despairing.
“Get up, Briaca,” her mother said gently. “The druids have kindled the fire.”
Through the open door of their hut, Briaca could see smoke rising from the nearby hill. The fire would grow with the increasing sound of spells and prayers until her father’s spirit was released at sunset. Then her uncle would be voted the new chief. How had he won everyone round to his way of thinking? Briaca felt rage push her sorrow down as she threw back her blanket and
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