Chapter Text
For as long as Afagddu could remember, from time to time, his sister Creirwy would remind him that they had a brother. It was usually when they were near the river, which was the only thing that made Creirwy nervous, or when their mother was angry about something.
Afagddu couldn’t remember his brother—his memories only went back to being five or six, not long before he got his mask. (He knew that was odd, but Creirwy said it was okay. “You just have your own time for things,” she said. “If anyone says something bad about it, tell me. I’ll deal with them.” And Creirwy must have been right, because she always was).
Sometimes, he would ask her why he hadn’t met their brother, but her answer was always the same.
“I don’t know, Morvran,” she’d say, “but he’s gone. He’s gone, and you have to be careful.”