Her eyes lift, warm as they hold his gaze, that affection in his tone that bolsters her confidence. With blessing granted, she bows her head, and takes the step backwards before turning.
Moving back to her ladies, she lifts her eyes skyward in a silent prayer to the Holy Sea that may she have all the grace she has ever had in her life in this moment especially. Light and brisk as the waves themselves.
It is the last as she drifts with the other women into formation. Their arms looping one another across the back as she fell into the familiar steps of the dance learned so long ago in the fields - their bodies linked together, as the drum changed again the other instruments picking up, and in slow first few steps to get their bearings, they got their bearings to turn in a circle together.
Then it goes faster, faster, as they begin to spin a wheel together, skirts flaring, the music beating louder, until at last in a culmination of all - they split apart like petals scattering to the wind.
Not that the movements slow down, instead form intricate weaving, they move back and forth from one another, and the words sung by one of the small troop rising over the music. The steps have them grasping one another, lifting, jumping, pale skin that flashes as she vaults high in leaps, then is caught, and moving off again. Sometimes moving as one in joined arms, sometimes alternating to give each other a brief pause to take their breath. Later, it will be unsurprising that she has earned blisters for the effort of the movement. But they are well worn, and eagerly gotten.
It's another of the party that comes up to Sweeney himself with a small bow, and offers in slow murmurs a translation of what the song is about. They sing of the warrior, riding out to the roads, roaming the fields and seeing the lands after the snows, green and bright, the armour shining in the sun, the banners in the wind. The dance is done to welcome the wanderer home and the joy of returning to loved ones.
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Moving back to her ladies, she lifts her eyes skyward in a silent prayer to the Holy Sea that may she have all the grace she has ever had in her life in this moment especially. Light and brisk as the waves themselves.
It is the last as she drifts with the other women into formation. Their arms looping one another across the back as she fell into the familiar steps of the dance learned so long ago in the fields - their bodies linked together, as the drum changed again the other instruments picking up, and in slow first few steps to get their bearings, they got their bearings to turn in a circle together.
Then it goes faster, faster, as they begin to spin a wheel together, skirts flaring, the music beating louder, until at last in a culmination of all - they split apart like petals scattering to the wind.
Not that the movements slow down, instead form intricate weaving, they move back and forth from one another, and the words sung by one of the small troop rising over the music. The steps have them grasping one another, lifting, jumping, pale skin that flashes as she vaults high in leaps, then is caught, and moving off again. Sometimes moving as one in joined arms, sometimes alternating to give each other a brief pause to take their breath. Later, it will be unsurprising that she has earned blisters for the effort of the movement. But they are well worn, and eagerly gotten.
It's another of the party that comes up to Sweeney himself with a small bow, and offers in slow murmurs a translation of what the song is about. They sing of the warrior, riding out to the roads, roaming the fields and seeing the lands after the snows, green and bright, the armour shining in the sun, the banners in the wind. The dance is done to welcome the wanderer home and the joy of returning to loved ones.