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These strands of memory are interesting to me in that they speak a little of the fact that sidhe and Tuatha are not one and the same.
I dance upon the moors stained with a blood that grows the deepest blue flowers. I've lived here before, walked among the hills, among the people. Tuatha de danaan, child of Dana, the great earth mother. I've carried the staff that has long since passed beyond the mortal veil. I've walked the halls of Underhill, and I've danced with the strangest creatures. The sidhe are my brothers, my sisters, the creatures I walk side by side with in a land becoming swiftly more strange.
Father believes that the people will allow us to stay, but I fear it is not so. The people who come to our ancient lands, they have no respect for what we are, what we have created. They will only defile the great tombs of our people, only take our treasures from our broken bodies as we lay upon the earth in our final moments.
Father raised me to be a warrior, but I fear there is no winning of this war. We are so few, compared to these invaders. They don't revere the land...they don't accept Dana...they come to conquer and take from us what we love. There is no healing this wound. Others have begun to whisper that perhaps we should go among the sidhe and hide...go among them and leave the surface world to those who have come. I do not desire this...I would pine for hte sun and the bright glow of the moon and the cool embrace of Dana's elements. I would die away from this land. So I am going to stand with father and all the others who have decided to make a last stand. I will stand with them, and if we fall...so be it. It is the will of the gods. Mother Dana bless us, the good gods keep us...this is the last stand of the People of Dana.
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