Ah look there!  Where he had played and fought with other boys; there, the tree where he killed his first boar, that path - oh yes, that path he walked with Cyneburh when he vowed undying love but they still hid from the eyes of others for fear of being seen.  For her family and his were mortal enemies and they would have been parted by the elders.

Here was the grove where the Druids once came with secret rituals and powerful incantations - where the rituals continued long after everyone said ‘we are a Christian country!’ and proved it by burning a man in  a wicker cage, a man whose addled wits and terrible vile ways made him a danger - they said.  And later they came with the Christian god to worship in the same place.

The burning evening sky, clouds alight with fire, reminded him vividly of the awful sacrifice he had witnessed.  Secretly.  And never told anyone of what he had seen, although he sometimes woke in the night to the sound of the man’s demented screams.

Kenweard dragged his thoughts back to good things, calming thoughts.

The great oak was still there; he could see the top  weaving its patterns against the brightness. It was a symbol of Blac’s village and of all Kenweard held dear. They would be beneath the oak tonight, the men of the village, dictating the size of the Midsummer fire and who would lead the dance. Such an honour to lead the dance!  No mere mortal could do such a thing, in Blac’s view. And Kenweard did not think Blac, the arrogant ‘I know better than anyone’ elder, had changed much since he had been gone.