"Yet thou did," thundered the goddess, Brigid, scarlet hair flowing upward in the opposite direction of the rain. Two priestesses bowed before Her, clothed in cloaks. Her other loyal vessels guarded the hedge around Her sacred flame. These virginal and faithful priestesses chanted in unwavering cadence against the swollen sky filled with bluish night. So dark was this evening, no moon shone for the cluster of clouds blocked it from its exalted palace.

"You welcome Me, but have betrayed Me, falling for the serpent of lust, allowing these two mortals to defile My very temple!" Brigid bellowed, Her words bouncing against her temple's stone slabs.

The two fallen priestesses fell to their knees, ashamed. Good. One of the tainted screamed out.

"The Triple Goddess Brigid. Brigid Golden Red Woman. Brigid flame and honeycomb. Brigid, sun of womanhood. Please, Brigid lead me home! You are a branch in blossom! You are a sheltering dome. You are my bright precious freedom! Brigid lead me home!" she cried out in panic.

The onslaught of rain across the soaked landscape forced others mortals to flee, save the priestesses dedicated to the flame and to the hearth.

And the two who orchestrated their fall from grace. They failed to kneel before Her presence, instead stood tall against the falling rain.

The goddess's eyes seemed to grow larger. The orange flame burned in those rage-filled orbs.

"Home?" she scoffed. "Stand!"

The two priestesses scrambled to their feet, but the two handsome men in the back of the temple came forward so much slower. Brigid's fury fell upon them, and in her ivory fist, fiery arrows burst forth from a rush of scarlet fire. Like the dawn, bright yellow emanated from her through the gloom. A beacon of anger, Brigid floated in an abyss of dark water.

"Ciaran and Connor," she said, greeting them with icy ire. "Ye dare defile My priestesses! They are useless to Me in this state. What say ye of thy actions this day?"

The auburn-haired Connor stepped toward Her, brave and without fear. He didn't shiver as droplets infiltrated his clothes. He met Her eyes as he spoke as if he'd done nothing wrong. One of her favorite warriors, Connor was destined to do great things, for She had Her eyes on him and the greatness within his grasp. Built for war, his massive frame had sent scores of men's souls to the gates of the lasting kingdom than any other mortal man in the village.

Yet he had turned all of it to ash by his actions this night.

"Goddess Brigid," he said, "Great Mother, 'tis I who approached the lasses, and 'tis I who sired the lust in Ciaran's heart for them as well. 'Tis should be I whom suffers your wrath."

"You are arrogant and bold Connor," Brigid said, drifting across the flooded ground to the place where Connor stood, straight and unflinching. At least Ciaran had bowed, some respect looming in his person. "Ye tone and ye lack of remorse would warrant ye death."

"No!" shouted Ciaran, from the muck to stand beside Connor.

She watched him squint his emerald eyes against the falling onslaught, against her glowing aura.

"'Tis not Connor's fault alone. Yet mine as well. Doth as Thy wishes, Beloved Goddess. Yet, if death be rewarded for our folly, doth not err, cast Your arrows to both our breasts."

Ah, Ciaran, he of deep musings and little speech, has chosen to speak at last.

Yes, the raven-haired cousin and he of diplomacy. His presence in her temple, his phallus shoved into her virginal vessel, had not surprised her, but it had disappointed her. Brigid had thought him wiser than to be lead foolishly by his lust.

"Ye dare instruct Me? Dare offer advice to Me?" Brigid roared. "Ye should be on thy knees, begging for My forgiveness! Yet as men, thou doth not think of these unfortunate vessels to whom ye defiled, nor their families whom are forever shamed by thou actions. Ye thought not of others!"

In Her hand, a bow flamed, Brigid peered down her nose at them. To Her surprise, Connor smirked at Her, hands on his hips. The other, Ciaran studied the ground as if his fate resided there.

With Her rage erupting, Brigid's glowing arrows fell in sharp precision, finding the marks with searing anguish.

Connor's arrow struck first, sending the large man to his knees. Ciaran's arrow pierced his breast a second later, and he too collapsed to the mud-covered earth, screaming in wretched agony.

"What thou hath done unto me and mine, so shall the same befall you. To rise you must first kneel, and thou must kneel before Me with forgiveness upon you heart. From this day forth, you shall walk the land, unable to rest, unable to die. Because of you, My sacred hearth lays cold, empty. In return, thou loins will remain cold until your eyes fall upon the one woman who possesses inner fire great enough to light the hearth in your arrogant and selfish hearts."