Deepwood Weald [m] and you can hold me, like he held her

ahh, ahh — that language again, that flowery pull of primal memory which reached deep down inside lestan. "there was once a spirit who w-wished so much to be f-flesh that he tried to enter the storms to find a host."
"one night he heard the crying prayers of a w-woman, and flew down among the r-rain to see that she had been captured. a witch, she s-said. a w-witch who was to be put to death."
"'saor mi, agus bheir mi dhuit miann do chridhe,' she said to the spirit who had come to s-seek her." his arms went more gently around the woman; lestan paused, wondering why this story of all had come upon him.
"'tha mi airson anail a ghabhail ann am feòil bheò,'" and suddenly it was not a tale at all, it was the mayfair's blood rising, rising; and he fell a thousand miles away from his lover, eyes taking on a faraway look. "that was what he said to her. and she raised her voice. 'be it so.'"
"he freed the woman from her prison, and she sought a man. when she was w-with child, she invited the spirit into her as h-host, and he was made into life."
lestan paused. the tale had been too heavy for so delicate a time, and yet! and yet she had been the first to which he had uttered this, "the story of the mayfairs began with the child charlotte. and i f-fear it may end with me."