‘Smile, Guinevere,’ Gruff said. He was sitting cross-legged on a sheep-poo-free patch of grass, the camera he and Mat had borrowed from Tim (‘If you scratch it or drop it in the sea, I will actually have your guts for garters, and enjoy wearing them to hold my socks up’) levelled carefully at the grazing sheep. At the sound of his voice, Guinevere raised her head and looked at him. What? the look said. Have you got bread for me? If not then move along, please.
‘Very photogenic,’ Mat said, glancing at the digital display over Gruff’s shoulder. ‘You’re right, it’s much better quality than your phone.’ She had a notebook in her lap and was sketching. ‘How’s this? The “Meet the Sheep” feature can have pictures and facts for each sheep, like Top Trump cards. And we can have the front page set up so it changes every day to be a different cover sheep.’
‘Guinevere won’t like sharing the glory,’ Gruff grinned. ‘Her social media following is already going to her head.’ He trained the camera on Daisy, who had a daisy sticking out of her mouth.
‘Perfect!’ Mat laughed.
Gruff turned the camera off and returned it carefully to its soft black carry case. He put the case down on the grass next to the blacksmith’s hammer and watched Mat scribble in her notebook. He’d taken to bringing the hammer everywhere he and Mat went. He had a feeling that the blacksmith would be back one day to reclaim it, and that they should keep it safe until then.
‘What should Guinevere have under “fun fact”?’ Mat asked.
‘Best escaper,’ Gruff said immediately. ‘She knows she gets bread to lure her back, so she’s always doing it. And there were loads of shares on that compilation video of her jumping over walls.’
‘Master of escape,’ Mat said, writing it down. ‘Plans ahead. Gets what she wants.’
He laughed. ‘Yep, that’s Guinevere!’
Mat chewed the end of her pencil, looking over her design with a critical eye.
‘Have you heard back from that environmental diving charity?’ Gruff asked.
‘Yeah, they’ve got them on their list.’ Mat had seen four abandoned fishing nets underwater in her morgen state but not been able to release them from the lobster pots, rocks and wrecked fishing boat they had been tangled in. They were a hazard for sea creatures that could get caught in them.
‘So what do they do with them?’
‘They can be recycled into plastic pellets that are used to make other stuff, like shoes.’
‘That’s amazing!’
‘Yeah, it is.’
They sat in silence for a while, watching a group of lambs play racing games up and down the line of the stone wall. Gruff felt every bit as happy as those lambs. The main body of the website was up and running, including an exciting description of the storm and the sheep’s rescue, and pictures and videos on social media had done really well. There had already been two new outlets who had got in touch with them to order stock. Nain and Dad’s anxious, muttered conversations about the accounts were fewer, and the worried frowns they had carried for so many weeks were replaced by smiles. They had hope again.
Gruff heard soft footsteps approaching, and the flap of material. That’s a cloak, he thought, remembering the sound. A shiver went down his spine. ‘She’s here,’ he whispered.
Mat glanced at him. ‘What?’
The blacksmith’s voice was directly behind them. ‘Dw i ddim yn gwybod eich enwau.’ I don’t know your names.
Gruff and Mat scrambled to their feet and spun round. The blacksmith stood there, tall and solid and real in the grey light of the cloudy afternoon. Soot on her face and her clothes, fresh mud on her boots, windswept hair. She looked at them both with a smile so warm she seemed to glow.
‘Gruff dw i,’ Gruff said. He nudged Mat and said, ‘She wants our names.’
‘I’m Mat,’ Mat whispered, and Gruff remembered this was the first time she had seen the blacksmith.
‘I am Gofannon,’ the blacksmith said in English.
Gruff had never seen Gofannon look so happy. Without her worry she was someone new. ‘You’re not on the seventh Sleeper,’ he said.
Gofannon shook her head. ‘I’m free,’ she replied. ‘We’re free, Dylan and I both. And we have the two of you to thank for that.’
‘We can’t pull the sword from the sea anymore,’ Mat said. ‘We’ve both tried.’
‘No.’ Gofannon bent down and picked up the hammer from the grass, weighing it in her hand. ‘It was never really meant for this world. But you will be able to wield it again, if you ever need to.’
Mat grinned. ‘Like Excalibur.’
Gofannon laughed. ‘Perhaps.’ She slotted the hammer into her tool belt.
‘Will we see you again?’ Gruff asked. ‘Is Dylan happy?’
‘I don’t know if we’ll meet again,’ Gofannon said. ‘We do not live to the same time as one another. But be assured that Dylan is happier than you can imagine.’
‘I’m glad,’ Gruff said quietly.
He hesitated, then asked the question that had been bothering the edge of his mind since he had first seen Gofannon standing on the seventh Sleeper. ‘Why was it me who saw you? And why could I feel the sea in Mat, when other people couldn’t?’
‘I can’t be sure,’ Gofannon said. ‘Sometimes people have seen me, and sometimes they haven’t. But I believe that empathy has a part to play. You’re aware of the feelings of others, so you sensed Mat’s restlessness, and my desperation to be seen and heard.’
‘Yes!’ Mat said. ‘That makes sense. You’re thoughtful, Gruff. You’re kind.’
Gruff shrugged, embarrassed. ‘So are you.’
A memory had been stirring at the back of his thoughts and as he looked for an escape route from talking about himself, it shot suddenly into focus. ‘Gofannon!’ he said. ‘I remember Taid telling me a story about you. Was it you? Something in Culhwch ac Olwen, the story with King Arthur in it. There was a whole list of stuff the knights had to do, like a quest…’
Gruff stopped, sadness stepping out to greet him. It had been one of Taid’s favourite stories to tell. He had always brought the far-off world to vivid life: the ancient, talking salmon; the giant Ysbaddaden; the ferocious boar named Twrch Trwyth…
Gofannon nodded. ‘I play a small part in that tale. Your grandfather remembers well.’
Gruff smiled, his sadness mixed with pride. ‘He did. His stories were the best. And Nain’s are, too.’
‘And yours will be,’ Gofannon said. ‘The stories you learn and the stories you live through.’ Her smile widened. ‘And now, thanks to you both, I can at last cross the bridge and go home to Annwn to tell my own story there. Thank you, Gruff. Thank you, Mat, the morgen who chose land.’
Mat grinned. ‘Definitely the right choice.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m sad to lose the wave calming thing though. That was pretty great, and it’d be useful as an oceanologist!’
Mischief twinkled across Gofannon’s face. ‘What makes you so sure you’ve lost it?’
Mat’s mouth dropped open. ‘Can I? Without turning into a morgen again?’
‘You’ve made your choice and you’re of the land now. But you will always be a morgen, too.’
Mat bounced up and down with excitement. ‘Awesome!’
Gofannon laughed and turned to Gruff. ‘Goodbye, Gruff. You heard me when no one else could.’
‘Hwyl fawr,’ Gruff said. Goodbye.
‘Hwyl fawr,’ Gofannon smiled. She turned and walked away from them with long-legged strides: across Top Field, over the hurdle blocking the Weeping Stone’s hole in the wall, across the coast path and down onto the beach.
She waded out to the first of the Sleepers, climbed up it, and jumped from stone to stone until she stood on the seventh. She turned back towards the land and raised one arm in farewell. Gruff and Mat waved.
Gofannon dropped her arm, turned to face the open sea, and stepped off the seventh Sleeper. She vanished before she hit the water.
Mat breathed in sharply. ‘Where did she go?’ she whispered.
Gruff grinned. ‘Home.’ Joy bubbled up inside him and he grabbed Mat’s hands and spun round with her, faster and faster.
Mat laughed. ‘Home!’ she shouted to the grey clouds and a passing tern.
They fell over and lay on their backs on the grass, breathless and giggling. Gruff closed his eyes and listened to the crunching munching of the grazing sheep, the busy buzzing of a bee, the rhythmic swoosh of the waves. He took a deep breath that smelled of sheep and salt and gorse blossom.
Thundering hooves reverberated through the ground. A white shape barrelled past them and leapt clean over the dry stone wall onto the coast path.
‘Sheep out!’ Dad shouted from somewhere over by the farmhouse.
Gruff and Mat grinned at one another. ‘On it!’ Gruff yelled back, and together they set off in pursuit of Guinevere, Master of Escape.