Herne

As we walked into the dining room, the aroma of roasting venison and hardy stew wafted from the kitchen. My appetite rushed back with a vengeance and I was eager to sample Caleb’s hard work. Then I noticed a man at the end of the table dressed in buckskin with long brown hair. I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at one of my patron gods, Cernunnos, horned lord of the hunt.

“My lord, Cernunnos,” I said, curtsying and pulling Kaira down into a curtsy as well.

The man snorted and stood, “I see you know my half-brother. While I like to think I have the better looks, he is still better known with the ladies. I am Herne.”

I looked at him again, taking in his build and dress. He looked to be in his prime, perhaps mid-thirties, but his eyes held a timeless quality, full of deep knowledge. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize any of the Tuatha Dé Danann were here.” I said, trying to give Kaira as much studdle information as I dared.

“That is a tale for after dinner.