Rhiannon’s mind was blank as per usual as her hands followed the pattern of the loom. She was skilled at weaving and dedicated her time to it, and it showed in her close, even weave.

Manly she made clothes, her clothes were better quality than any one else’s yet she still was poor and only just got enough to live on. The tribe was prejudiced to her; they made sure that they had as little to do with her as possible unless they got a good deal out of it.

She was lonely, so very lonely, she wanted more than any thing else in the world for wings to grow on her back and be able to fly. Till then she was stuck on this island with nowhere to go, and no way to go any where.

The other children her age had had lessons on what was beyond the horizon, and were even starting to fly out and look as their wings got stronger. But Rhiannon would be stuck on this island for ever, not knowing for the rest of her life.

She finished the cloth she was working on and took it off the loom. She trimmed the edges and folded it and put it in a small chest. She took a key from her neck and locked the chest, the people weren’t above stealing from her, they didn’t even consider her a person.

She left her little hut, her bare feet padding softly along the dirt floor. She had saved up all the money that she had earned and bought her loom, but that left her little home empty and bare, with no money to buy rugs with.

Her hut was built out side of the main cluster; her parents had kicked her out of their hut as soon as they could, when she turned fifteen, and barely spared her enough money for her own home. She had built her hut herself, because no one would have helped her and had only recently managed to waterproof it and make it comfortable.

It sat beside a little spring and a copse of flax bushes. Rhiannon was almost self reliant living out here, going only into town to get wool for weaving and the basics of food and life.

But she wasn’t happy; it was as if this life wasn’t right for her, that she was meant to be somewhere else. But without wings this island was impossible to leave.

She walked into the village quietly, needing to get some fish from the days catch and some thread for sewing. In the village people were milling around, talking and showing off what they had caught. But they went quiet when Rhiannon walked past.

Every time she did this it was as if they were driving a knife deeper and deeper into her heart, she had learnt long ago not to cry and plead with them and to keep all her emotions safely hidden behind an airtight mask.

In silence she walked up to the lady who sold fish to those who couldn’t catch their own, she pulled two coins out of her pocket and took the paper wrapped parcel the woman handed her. The woman’s face was stern and she turned away as soon as she had the money. Rhiannon walked on and bought some thread and a few skeins of wool.

Then she left, she didn’t head back to her hut, instead she made the climb up the hill to her cliff.

She had been too busy with her weaving today to come at the usual time and had paid the price for it in the cold stares of the tribe. But she had vowed to come every day and everyday she would come.

She closed her eyes as she reached the cliff and once again enjoyed the feeling of the wind through her braids.

She opened her eyes and stared out across the vast sea, she loved the sea, she loved it waves and its beauty and the sound of it on a stormy day. She didn’t go swimming in the sea, no one did, but Rhiannon fantasized about one day going in, feeling its cool, smoothness on her skin.

Staring out to the west, across the wild side of the island, where no one went, something caught her eye.

The west side of the island was not forbidden, but no body needed to go there and so nobody did. The sun was just going down and its golden light shone on the island, making Rhiannon imagine she could see dancing figures, twirling on the sun baked rocks below her.

No birds went flying after the sun began going down, due to bad night vision and Rhiannon had always followed the rules and was usually in her hut at sundown.

So as Rhiannon stared at the dancing figures, marveling, she wondered whether they were tricks of the light or something real that had never been discovered.

Rhiannon didn’t know how long she stood on that mountain cliff, watching the dance but eventually the sun went down completely and she was forced to head back to her hut.

But she would go back tomorrow and see if the dancers were still there, maybe, just maybe she would go down to meet them, talk to them, and find out who they were.

And for the first time in her life, Rhiannon the Outcast had something to look forward too.