Greetings, high priestess Camma

How humbled I was to receive your message, my love of so many years ago! We of the Roman army may think ourselves focussed and disciplined, but your simple message cuts me as would the blades of your fabled twin daggers.

You did not mean to do, this, I know; and you did it with such care that I could, indeed, in the dropping of the veil that time has thrown over our love, feel as we did, those years ago.

Are we so changed, my love of the groves and the moonlit lakes? Do the tides of Môna no longer speak of the unseen mists where mind and heart meet with the wonders of the wild things?

Suetonius Paulinus arrives soon. He will need to be advised of the ways of crossing the deadly straits of Môna Insula, where a man – or even a horse – may be swept to their deaths in the blink of an unprepared eye. Tell, me beloved High Priestess, how I may divert his keen eye so that, as we invade your island sanctuary, armed to exterminate, you may slip away, your tribe intact, via some other seaward route?

I do not believe that you want to die. There are many gods known to the Romans, but none of them would demand that we lay down our lives in this way. Is this simply the Roman gift of practicality, or does the Druid faith go so much deeper into the cycle of life that we have simply never known of the worlds you already inhabit?

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