She wondered how the hell anyone could focus soaking wet and half frozen.
Rain poured out of thick gray skies as it had, without pause, for two solid days and nights. That equaled, for the most part, inside work for both her job and her craft. She didn’t mind it, not really. She enjoyed reorganizing the tack room with Meara, and working with Mick on instructing one young rider, and one feisty octogenarian in the ring.
She loved having extra time to groom and bond with the horses. She’d braided the manes of all the mares, delighted by the way they preened at the added attention. And though she sensed the geldings would have liked that style and attention just as much, she knew Boyle would object. So she’d worked a small, single braid into each, to please the horse and satisfy the boss.
And she learned. Inside Branna’s workshop with the fire simmering, the scents of herbs and candle wax sweetening the air, she’d learned to expand her own understanding, embrace her power, and begin to polish those raw edges. At night, she read, she studied while the wind blew that steady rain against the windowpanes.
But how the hell was she supposed to think, much less focus, with rain splatting on her head, and the raw chill of it shivering straight to her bones.
Worse, Branna stood there, absolutely dry, her hair a gorgeous black sweep, and her eyes merciless.
“It’s water,” Branna reminded her. She stood in the quiet sunlight she’d created, smiling coolly through the curtain of rain that fell outside her boundary.
“I know it’s water,” Iona muttered. “It’s running down the back of my neck, into my eyes.”
“Control it. Do you think you’ll be warm and dry and happy every time you need what you are, what you have? Will Cabhan wait for fine, fair weather to come for you?”
“All right, all right, all right!” Flickers of fire sizzled from Iona’s fingertips, and a stream of rain went to steam.
“Not that way. You’re not after changing it, though well done enough there. Move it.” Smoothly, effortlessly, Branna widened her sunny spot a few inches.
“Show-off,” Iona muttered.
“It’s in you as much as me. Slide the rain away from you.”
She liked the feel of the fire snapping through her, from her, but drew it back. And used the frustration and annoyance that helped her call it to nudge, to slide, to open.
An inch, then two—and she saw it, felt it. It was just water. Like the water in the bowl. Thrilled, she pushed, and pushed hard enough to have that streaming rain leap away, gather. And splat with some force against Branna’s borders.
“I didn’t mean to— I mean I wasn’t trying to splash you. Exactly.”
“It wouldn’t have hurt your feelings if you’d managed to,” Branna said easily. “So well done as well there. You’ll work on subtlety, and finesse—and absolute control—but you managed it, and that’s a start.”
Iona blinked, swiped at her wet face, and saw she’d opened a narrow but effective swath of dry. No pretty pale gold sunlight in her little corner, but no rain either.
“Woo to the hoo!”
“Don’t lose it. Don’t spread it. It’s only for you.”
“The rest of the county would probably appreciate some dry, but I get it. Stop rain here, maybe cause a flood there.”
“We can’t know, so we don’t risk it. Move with it,” Branna demonstrated, walking in a wide circle, always within the dry.
On her attempt, the edges of Iona’s circle turned soggy, but she kept control.
“Well done. As it’s Ireland, you’ll have no lack of rain to practice on as we go, but well done for today. We’ll go inside, have a go at a simple potion.”
As Branna headed back toward the workshop, Iona struggled to keep up—and maintain her dry area. “I could help on the bottling and packaging of your stock, for your shop. I’d like to help somewhere,” she continued. “You do almost all the cooking, and you’re spending a lot of your time—Connor, too—teaching me. I’m pretty good at following directions.”
“You are.”
Branna had always preferred the solitude of her workshop. It was one matter to hire clerks and such for the shop in Cong, to have them deal with customers, shipping, and so on. But her workshop was her quiet place. Usually.
And still, she thought, the lessons, and the need for them, did cut into her time.
“It would be a help,” she decided. “We’ll see about it.”
Branna stepped into the workshop, and Iona nipped in behind her dripping on the floor.