"So... Eilwen is your mother?"

Brighid stops, turns to you, stares for several seconds, and then bursts into laughter. Her laughter makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment but also warms your heart a little; she has been so stern and serious so far and it makes you feel good to make her laugh, even if it is by asking what appears to have been an idiotic question.

"What? No! How..." Giggles catch her again but she manages to fight them down. "What made you ask such a silly question?" She resumes walking as she waits for your answer.

"Well, Roark implied that your mother was on the Council, and you called Eilwen Mama Eilwen..." You trail off as she laughs again.

"Alright, I can see what you were thinking but no, no. Almost everyone, at least the younger generations, call Eilwen that. She is the oldest centaur in the village and if all the stories were true she could have populated a whole village herself in her day. We centaurs do not tend to have very many children, usually just two or three in a lifetime. Supposedly Mama Eilwen has more than twenty, although as far as I know only two of them live in our village. I am not one of them, though; they are both decades older than me and one of them has a son my age to boot. Whom I loathe, I might add.

"You are right that my mother is on the Council, but not Eilwen, and before you say anything no definitely not Anwn! She is not much older than I am, even though we look more alike in many ways than my mother and I."

You've already done the math. If not Eilwen or Anwn, then... "Ailis is your mother? You two look almost nothing alike! Except for your ears, that is." The aforementioned appendages twitch, seemingly in response to your words.

"Ah, yes, the famous Moon Elf ears of Moongraced Centaurs. Not many Moongraced -- or Moon Elves, for that matter, I expect -- become warriors because of these damned things. It is impossible to protect them with a helmet; they are too long and stick out at a terrible angle, anything you try to protect them with would either shear off or just guide a blade right to the side of your head and kill you." She sounds a little bitter at that, but then shakes her head and returns to the subject.

"Yes, Ailis Silverhair is my mother. We are the only two Moongraced Centaurs in the tribe, though you had no way of knowing that. I am not very much like other Moongraced. Most of us tend towards fair, small, and slender, like Mother, and prefer magic and knowledge to hard labor and combat. Anyone with eyes can tell I defy all the conventions, though. I suppose there is no harm in you knowing; it is mostly because of one of my Traits, Fireheart. It gives me a bonus to Might and Toughness every level and takes away my racial bonus to Willpower, plus increases my affinity for Fire Magic and Smithing. A strong trait for a warrior, but unheard of in a race of cooped-up scholars. I don't regret it for a moment, though. I love working metal in Birgitte's forge, and bringing Brigantia's judgment upon monsters is a calling. I've even got a touch of Braihan's wanderlust, much to Mother's dismay, though I am nowhere near as crazy about travelling as Gerwyn. Anyway, with my hair and fur color, people said I was blessed of the Brighaid when I was born, and I see no reason to disagree with them."

"Forgive me," you say, "but -- the Brighaid? What, or who, is that?"

"Huh? Oh, right, not from around here. The Brighaid are one -- well, three, but they're all sort of the same too, it's complicated -- of the old Gods. Not many follow any faith any more, but I figure if They do not actually have an interest in me, following Their tenets has still served me well, so I might as well go all the way. Regardless, the Brighaid are the three deities I mentioned just a moment ago: Birgitte, Brigantia, and Braihan. Birgitte is the goddess of fertility, the sun, and crafts, especially smithcraft. Brigantia is goddess of conflagration which purifies decay leaving only fertile ashes behind, and is also associated with hard-fought victory. Braihan is the God of poetry, joyful passion, and exploration. Together, they are the Brighaid, and they govern fire in all of its aspects. Pretty obvious why I am drawn to them, once you know."

You can't help but agree. You don't know very much about Brighid yet, but what you have seen matches up pretty well with her description of the triune deity. You nod and thank Brighid for the information, and the pair of you continue to walk through the mists. You pass the time by asking the fiery centaur woman about various flora and fauna and terrain features that you pass, and though she is no expert in the fields she gamely tries to answer your questions. You're pretty sure she's aware that you're just making small talk to pass the time and is playing along.

A couple hours after your legs start to ache from over-exertion, Brighid finally calls a stop for the day. The sun is nearly vanished behind the mountains to your west and the long shadows and darkness make it difficult to navigate. Brighid said she could summon magical fire to light your path, but it would stand out in the night and draw attention best avoided. Instead, she leads you to a shallow, sheltered cave and casts two spells. One heats up the cave to a pleasant temperature, and the other she says will alert her to anything larger than a rat which approaches the entrance. Afterwords, she begins the laborious process of removing her armor -- you see why it took her so long in her house -- and tells you to get yours off too, advising you that sleeping in armor is difficult for any but the most veteran warriors. You were right; she is wearing padding under her upper body armor, and you're grateful for the padding you're wearing as she shakes her hair free of her helmet and arches her back in a long stretch, causing her shirt to cling to her breasts in an extremely pleasant manner. It feels a little too on the point to say given her fiery Trait, but damn she is smoking hot under all that armor.

You manage to tear your eyes away from her before she notices you staring again and pull one of the centaurs' trail rations out of your backpack. Unwrapping it, you find a slice of rich dark bread, a slab of salted meat, and a wedge of cheese, as well as a double handful of nuts and dried berries. The food is simple but filling and after being assured that there is no need for you to stand watch, you curl up with your head on your backpack and once again drift off to sleep.