Eira said, confident. "Red! And it has to have the dragon because the dragon is Wales, that's how you know it! Because the dragon is the most important part!"
"What food is traditionally eaten on St David's Day?"
--
Multiple peoples voices rang out in unison. "Welsh cakes!" "Leeks!" "Bara brith!"
a heat beat after,
Tima said a little loudly, a little proud "Toast!"
People laugther rang out warm and sweet through the darran.
--
"St David spent how many years as a hermit?" Peter said matter afactly "Thirty."
"Correct again old man, the quiz master beamed.
Peter a little red nosed just shot the quizmaster a warm smile. Which ofcourse any other day would have been a sneer as deep as the vally itself.
--
"Which Welsh word means the quality of free choice and care?" Papa whispered to Tima. "Cwtch,"
Tima repeated it soft, not understanding but liking the sound
--
"Name three traditional Welsh instruments." Peter's father stood up and counted. "Harp, cello, and—"
Then Eira spoke out proudly "Drums! For battles!"
Papa whispered Welsh words to Tima whenever he knew. "Cennin, Cariad, Galon". She liked the words. They felt just like home, which ofcourse, they were.
The team didn't win, a family from up the valley got three right in a row but it didn't matter. The quiz was about something else entirely: being part of something, being seen, being included on this brigthest of days, being home - toghether.
After the quiz, they ordered fizzy orange for the children and proper drinks for the adults. Tima's hands became sticky with the orange, and she sat quiet, tired and content. Eira was loud about it, and very confident: "If Tima knew ALL the answers, we would WIN because we'd be the smartest team ever assembled. And then next year we WILL win because I'll teach her everything" She made winning-sounds with her mouth. Everyone laughed.
The quiz-master approached their table, clipboard in hand. "Will you come back next year?"
Papa looked at Tima, sticky with orange and radiating joy, her daffodil still tucked behind her ear, slightly wilted from the afternoon's adventure.
"Aye," he said. "We'll be back."
---
By the time they reached the cottage, afternoon was folding itself into evening. The sky stretched wide and soft. A few daffodils bent near the garden gate, their yellow petals bobbing like heads agreeing with the day.
Tima stopped. "Tad They're still awake!"
Papa chuckeled. "Aye, Uncle Peter too, just barely"
"No silly, the daffodils!"
Eira grabbed Tima's hand and pulled her toward the garden. "Come on! We need to check on the fairy door because magic doesn't wait, and also because I want to see if anything's happened to our mail!"
---