Cymra stood at the edge of her patio, her gaze taking in all the harvest decorations for tonight’s feast. “Gods and Goddesses, we do damn good work.”

“Yeah, we do,” Nimue replied, shooting her sister a mischievous grin. “Considering the fun we had at Beltane, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Shrugging, Cymra looked once last time at all the decorations representing weeks of work. Everything was in its place, giving the house and the grounds a true paganistic feeling of the harvest. “Well, it’s the harvest season and to be honest, with all the strange things, I think it’s more than necessary. Why? Second thoughts?”  Cymra turned towards Nimue, taking in her sister’s pensive expression. “What are you not telling me, sismine?”

Nimue sighed, but said nothing at first. Cymra’s gaze never left Nimue’s until finally she turned her gaze away. “Have you been to Avalon lately?”

“Not in the past few days, I’ve been too busy doing the rituals and preparing for today. Why?” Cymra didn’t like the tone of Nimue’s voice, but knew better than to push hard for answers. Nimue, like Morgaine, would bolt if not treated in a particular way– one that she had perfected over the many centuries to the consternation of her sister. “Did something happen while I was doing my other duties?”

Nimue raised a single brow, saying nothing. Cymra stepped away from her sister, stepping off the patio. Kneeling before a potted flower, she counted silently to ten in Welsh, English, and Latin, while checking the flowers for wilt. Slowly, she turned her gaze out to the decorated gazebo where the nearby bonfire would be lit. “If I’ve neglected something, I’d expect someone to tell me so I may rectify it.”

“Perhaps you should go yourself instead of waiting to be told,” Nimue retorted as her body brushed past Cymra’s. “You can’t expect everyone to be your stool pigeon. Some things can only be verified by other means.” Nimue kept walking towards the gazebo, stopping just short of the woodpile. Cymra stayed where she was, knowing that their words carried to each other, regardless of the distance.

“As usual, you’re correct, Nimue. I will rectify it as soon as our brother, Lancelot and Mordred arrive. They can take care of the other things while I walk Avalon’s path.” Cymra bit back the other, mean comments running through her mind, knowing Nimue wouldn’t say something that she didn’t mean. That alone saved her from the argument brewing between them for the longest time. “That is, if it’s okay with you, since it’ll leave you in charge of the last minute things.”

“You’ve got everything planned and prepped, sismine. I doubt I could fuck it up in that short period of time.” Nimue’s tone was sarcastic, with just a slight hint of teasing.

“Who’s fucking what up and can I get in on it?” A deep voice called from behind Cymra. Turning, she saw Lance, their brother standing there, his arms filled with wine and other delicacies she had asked him to bring. Dropping the pretense of taking care of the flowers, Cymra rushed to him, hugging him carefully before removing the packages from his grasp.

“It’s good to see you, Lance. How are things going with you?” Cymra ignored his question, knowing that their sister would catch him up to speed in her absence. “I’ll put this stuff away, if you want to help Nimue with the last minute things. Mordred should be here shortly.”

“Why do you invite him? He’s a traitor, Cymra.”

Cymra glared at Lance until he looked away. “As are you, Lancelot. As for Mordred, the only one he betrayed was sovereignty. Just as Arthur had.”