Primrose's Most Perfect Picnic

It was a fine spring day much like any other. The birds busied themselves with nest building and a hundred tiny songs danced across clear skies, singing of twined grass and twig.Primrose smiled, as this was her very favourite kind of day, not a nasty cloud in sight to blemish her perfect blue. The spring flowers seemed to agree with her as they raised their golden faces upwards.
Sun warmed skin and the first sight of apple blossom naturally led to thoughts of picnics for Primrose, so out she pulled her dusty hamper. The lid creaked as she lifted it and a sleepy spider stretched it's legs and clambered over the wicker sides. "Urgh" thought Primrose, for she was far too polite to say it out loud. It must be said that Primrose was none too fond of those that crawl or slither, nor those that hide in dusty corners, nor, did she like dust!
The basket was soon upturned and a feather duster was put to good use whisking away cobwebs and the like, until the basket was spick and span at last. For a finishing touch, the old, rather tatty gingham ribbon was replaced with a lovely, new, bright yellow one which was dotted with the tiniest daisies you could ever hope to see.

Primrose, rather pleased with herself, hummed a merry tune as she cut the crusts off her egg and cress sandwiches and filled her flask with pink lemonade."Mustn't forget the blanket and a thin slice of lemon cake." She mused, because if there was one thing she disliked more than dust, it was getting dirt on her pretty frock.
And so, Primrose gently laid the neatly folded blanket on the top of her frugal Spring feast and tied the lid as tightly shut as she could manage, so that not even the tiniest ant could squeeze inside and off she set into the bright sunlit day.
Down the lanes she walked and up the hill behind the woods. From the very top of the hill she could see dazzling yellow fields stretching ahead of her, so excited was Primrose that she almost tripped over the corner of her picnic basket as she skipped down to meet them.

Just in case, in the very unlikely circumstance, of you, dear reader, not knowing about the joys of picnicking in fields of spun gold, I will explain to you exactly where Primrose laid her blanket. It may seem from the roadside that the fields in question are so tightly packed that there is no where to walk, much less picnic, but this assumption is wholly incorrect. For you see, the farmer must be able to cross his fields and check each flower to make sure that all is growing happily and so, hidden in those fields lie wide avenues made by the large knobbly wheels of the tractor, perfect for Spring picnics and honeyed wanders.

Primrose laid her blanket down and poured herself a cup of lemonade that tickled her tongue and made her giggle. Munching away on delicious sandwiches she gazed up at the canary coloured blooms way above her head, closing her eyes when a spring breeze rippled through the pale green stems and ruffled her hair. So thoroughly absorbed was Primrose in the flavour of the sticky-sweet lemon filling her cheeks that she barely noticed the low purr growing in the field behind her. The farmer was also distracted that day thinking of the fine pickles and chunk of cheese he would soon be feasting on and the little bump he felt wasn't enough to draw him out of his hungry day dream.

The Governessa did marvel when she found sweet Primrose for not only did she smell of the most exquisite sweet lemon cream, but she looked as delicate as a pressed wildflower, flat in the dirt...

Flame Of Hair And Wild Of Spirit

This young one, flame of hair and wild of spirit enjoyed tremendously to scamper up the crags and chase the goats onto the highest precipice. Arms outstretched to the blowing winds she would laugh and twirl around. Perhaps, not the most sensible of pastimes but for Nuala caution was something to be fed to the wild wind. To stand high up on the crag with hair blowing one way and her dress the other was one of life's joys. Nuala would call out and listen to her voice disappear and in wonderment of where it would land, she chased all the way back down to try to catch it at the bottom.
Mostly the goats tried their best to ignore her, though on better days they humoured her shenanigans as she ran at them and shooed them ever upwards. 

On a day much like any other, Nuala ran the goats up to the top of the crag, the goats took to grazing and Nuala to twirling. High up in the sky another was twirling, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say circling. A huge eagle had seen the goats and was carefully choosing lunch! The goats at once recognised the fast approaching shadow and in a panic of hooves and horns sped hastily over rock and tussock to save themselves from the winged devourer. Nuala spinning with eyes shut was blind to the kerfuffle, laughing and giggling as dizziness took her. Except dizziness, this time had a very firm grip and if she was not mistaken was taking her higher and higher! Nuala opened her eyes to see the ground fast disappearing from below her feet, oh the joy! She had never been up that high before and let out a little shriek. 

Confused by the sounds emanating from his talons the eagle looked down, imagine his surprise to see not one horned and bleating but a human child wriggling and shrieking. He dropped her right away!
I never did find out if she managed to catch her voice at the bottom but perhaps you could ask for me at the roots of the old Willow tree...

A Tale Of Two Quarrelsome Sisters

These quarrelsome sisters are chalk and cheese. A seemingly trivial matter has the two siblings locking horns and even pulling hair, which only serves too bring out the very worst in Fidelma who rather prizes her silken, auburn tresses.

Ena, on the other hand, is nothing short of a stranger to a comb or even a soft bristle brush. What gets her goat is being told what to do, something that Fidelma particularly excels at! So you see, these two can barely spend a moment in each other's company before all hell breaks loose.
Something they did have in common was the love of collecting smooth, shiny pebbles and so they would wander coastal paths bickering and fratching all the way to and from the beach. They would argue over who had the most sand in their shoes, or whose turn it was to walk on the outside of the path and even about the colour of the sky!
But when they arrived at the shingle, the sheer joy of pebble hunting took away all their differences and my how they giggled and delightedly shared their cache.

At the end of one of these glorious outings arose a peculiar incident. I say peculiar because Fidelma, who was fastidious about the counting and grading of her pebbles, discovered that she was missing the smallest, shiniest, reddest one. Ena, pointed out, that perhaps Fidelma had dropped it. Her elder sister incensed at the accusation of carelessness, in turn accused Ena of stealing it, who immediately set her jaw and grimaced most venomously at her sister!

Foul of temper, they began their walk home each one spitting feathers and hurling insults at the other. It wasn't long before the pushing and pulling began, not to mention the kicking of ankles and the pinching of skin.

Oblivious in their anger, to the dangers of fisticuffs near the cliffs edge, they continued until first one and then the other, lost their footing and together plummeted down towards the beach below.

When the Governessa found them amid the seaweed and dances of the hermit crabs, not only did she notice that they were covered in barnacles, but that their little hands were locked as tightly together as their horns.
As the bone skirted one readied the sisters for their journey to the old Willow, the Governessa noticed a tiny, shiny, red pebble drop from the remnants of Fidelma's pocket...