Torin loved that his wife had come to learn about the Highlands and its myths and beliefs and that she was passing them on to their children along with her own learned knowledge.
Flora pointed up. “The clouds—”
“Pretty,” Alina exclaimed, tossing her head back to stare up at them and Torin quickly tightening his hold on her.
“Aye, they are pretty, Alina, but you must learn that when they change colors, light to dark gray, they warn us of a possible rainstorm or snowfall depending on the season.”
Alina raised her head and clasp her da’s cheeks in her tiny hands. “Snowballs.”
Torin smiled, having taught his daughter how to make and throw snowballs this past winter and having had a wonderful time with her.
Flora carefully plucked a plant from the basket she carried. “This daughter,” she said, waving it at her. “Is a nettle. The young sprouts are the best and make a good brew as well as a delicious soup. It also is a plant that helps heal various discomforts or illnesses, but Iona will teach you about that.”
“Wah dat, Mummy?” Alina asked, pointing.
Torin smiled as his wife continued to explain in detail and with patience everything his daughter pointed to. He even had come to learn things he never knew. One thing he did know, was positive about, was that he had not only a chatty wife but a chatty daughter as well and he loved them beyond belief, and he loved—to his amazement—to hear them chatter.
The end