"It will fix the colour," her mother had said.
They had left the wool in the dye for days, just stirring it occasionally, until the colour had taken. Then she had helped her mother set up the loom and watched as the threads went back and forth and built up the cloth that would form her cloak. She loved this cloak. It was soft and delicate and the blue matched her eyes.
She put it over her shoulders.
"Pin it child," said her father and Morg hung her head.
"I gave the brooch to the goddess," she mumbled. Her father crouched down and looked into her eyes. Was he angry? she wondered.
"What did you ask for?" he said quietly.
"For mother to be well. And to love me again."
"Your mother loves you very much," he said. "And I think she will be well now. Here." He unpinned the brooch that held his cloak in place. "Just for tonight," and he used it to pin her cloak closed.
Then Morg dared.