It's Time.

''Oh, crap! Run, Pixie! The bull has seen us.''

We took off, sprinting as fast as we could, adrenaline and panic pumping the blood faster to our legs. I leaped over fresh cow dung, buzzing with yellow flies, and tried to avoid the lumps and craters created by cows' hooves. The gate was just up ahead, set between coconut-scented gorse bushes.

Behind me I could see the huge brown and white bull head towards us, nostrils flared. Those big beasts could move when they wanted to. There were calves and mothers in the field. We should've known better than to take this shortcut.

Panting, we legged it over the gate, onto the stony track, just as the bull came to a stop, half way up the field. He blew hot air through his nostrils, misting up the metal ring. He had just wanted to scare us. It had worked!

I panted, doubled over, clutching the top of my legs. I was seeing stars.

''It's ok,'' Pixie wheezed. ''He's not coming any closer. We'll take the long way home.'' She straightened, fumbling in her anorak pocket for her inhaler. She took deep puffs, helping to ease the tightness in her chest. The spring pollen always made things harder for her. We waited a minute or two, just until I was satisfied her breathing was clear again.

''Right, c'mon, Sandra will be waiting.'' I said, already marching up the narrow track towards the little white cottage.

The white-washed cottage was like something you'd see on a 'Come to Ireland' poster. The thatch had been replaced with tiles, but the rest of the building was kept just as it would have been. The thick stone walls kept the house cool in summer and pleasant in winter, although Sandra still cooked over an open fire, which could make the place stuffy at times. The little pot she hung above the fire was blackened from soot, and the smoke from the turf made me choke sometimes when the wind was blowing down the chimney. Sandra's soda bread had a slight smoky taste, but it was still delicious, covered in butter and jam.

There was no electricity or running water. My mum often commented, wondering how she managed in the harsh winter months, and we had been bringing Sandra soups, stews and homemade scones since ever I could remember. Mum had always claimed she had made too much, and didn't want it to go to waste, and the two women kept up that pretense for all these years.

The turf was burning low as we entered the doorway. Little sparks and glows danced across the dark lumps of fuel. The main room was dark. These cottages all had fairly small, deep set windows. Sandra's array of wild flowers on the sill blocked what little light there was.

''Hello girls'', Sandra croaked as she emerged from her small bedroom to the left of the main room. ''I was hoping you'd come.'' She coughed. The sound rattled from her chest, and she winced as the coughing-fit racked her body. She was sweating, and she trembled as she lowered herself into her armchair, the only comfortable chair in the room. Pixie and I perched on wooden chairs at the small table by the wall.

''Sandra, you need a doctor'' I sounded alarmed. I couldn't help it. She was sick, but she never trusted doctors, relying on herbs and medicines she made herself. We had always known her as the local woman who foraged, and made medicines. Some people whispered that she was a witch, but Pixie and I didn't care. We hoped she was a witch, and could cast spells to sew up the lips of those who were nasty about her. My mum said she wasn't that sort of witch: she was just a woman who lived by the 'traditional ways' from long ago. Mum would often keep Sandra's remedies in the cupboard, using them first before seeking conventional medical help, which we often didn't have to do.

''No, child.'' She wheezed. ''It's too late for that. It won't be long now. I'll soon be meeting my Sammy on the other side. He's fed up waiting for me.'' She smiled, closing her eyes.

''No, Sandra!'' Pixie's voice broke. There were fat tears in her eyes.

''Now, listen to me girls,'' Sandra was suddenly strong. She looked at us with a serious look on her wrinkled face. ''I need you to do something for me. I need you to take me to the clearing at midnight.''

''The clearing? But why?'' I sat up straight, ready to protest, but she silenced me with a raised hand.

''I'm ready, girls. I need you to help me. Now, will you do my jobs for me, and then we'll have tea. I'll tell you some stories about the Good Folk, and then we can go. The moon is full tonight. She'll guide the way.''

****************************************************************

For the rest of the day, Pixie and I did the jobs we always did. We brushed the floor, fetched fresh water from the well, fed the chickens, stacked the turf, and made some dough for the bread. We worked as though Sandra was going to be here for a while, and it gave us comfort.

That evening, we drank nettle tea and gorged ourselves on Sandra's delicious homemade scones and blackcurrant jam. She told us stories and we all sang ballads. The candles were burning low, and the fire was softly glowing.

''Come on girls, help me up. It's time.''

We reluctantly helped Sandra into her woollen shawl, and she held each of us by the arm, as we locked up the cottage and made our way across the open fields to 'the clearing', a small mossy patch of ground inside a circle of hawthorn trees. We were always told it was a magical place, and to always respect it. Farmers left the trees standing, in cleared fields, and every spring, people would come and bring offerings of food, cloth and musical instruments as gifts for the fairies, or 'The Good People'. Some claimed they heard music and laughter, but most said nothing, as it wasn't respectful to report back on what had happened.

The full moon meant that our steps were safe as we made our way. Inside the clearing was still.

''Girls, let me sit here on the stone. I need to think. The clearing will provide me with energy. The fairies are near.''

Sandra took off her shoes, and her shawl, and just sat with her eyes closed. We backed off to the periphery of the cirlce, clutching each other's hands. We hadn't asked Sandra why she needed to come here. We just knew it was important to her. I had called my mum earlier to let her know where we were, and she had just said, ''Yes. Go with her.''

After a few minutes, the ground seemed to vibrate, and Sandra's eyes opened. ''Oh, Sammy. I'm here,'' She said, her voice loud and clear. ''I'm ready.''

Pixie and I stood and stared wide eyed, unable to move. We could only watch, as Sandra stood and seemed to move towards something. She reached out and smiled.

''Sandra!'' I shouted. But she only looked back, and smiled.

We watched, frozen, as our old friend headed towards a small, dark gap in the trees. With each step, her body became more and more translucent. Her white nightgown, her long grey hair, her old limbs, and her pale feet lost definition, until she seemed to disappear into the hawthorn tree.

''Sandra!'' We yelled, running towards where she had last been. ''Sandra!'' But she was gone.

There was nothing there. Nothing, except for her old woollen shawl, and her little black shoes, set neatly in front of the mossy boulder in the clearing.