This story was originally written in Welsh. This is a google translation.

Fersiwn Cymraeg

It is possible that Canrhig was born straight from the mountain. If so, her bones were made of heavy granite, and her flesh was peaty soil, and wild mountain water flowed in her veins. She was born with a lot of rough growth - heather and gorse and blueberry trees. As she grew, young birches, willows and hazels appeared on top of her, and then thorn trees and even a small oak. Her skin was smooth like the clay bed of the river, like the white petals of the thorn flowers, rough like the grass and sedge on the top of the mountain, and furrowed like the bare rocks.

On the other hand, it is quite possible that she was a person of flesh and blood, like you and me, but that her life has been fuller than ours of misfortune and bad luck. Perhaps, for example, her mother died when she was very young, or even when she was born. Maybe that mother was an unmarried daughter, and the father didn't want to know. Maybe she didn't have much of a family otherwise, and everyone in the area was too poor or too busy or too grumpy to take in an extra child and raise her. It seems that some one more tender-hearted than the others gave her food, and some old clothes to put her in, and allowed her to shelter in the barn or the barn on a cold night, but she was nobody's child at the bottom.

She was a big giantess of a wild child, but that was not what frightened the people of Nant Peris, there had been many giantesses before her; women who could lift a stone as tall and strong with one hand in order to create a bridge, or rescue a fair horse and carry it home to the stable like a puppy in her lap after an accident, or knock a thief unconscious and one stump of to a fist These giants were highly respected and famous, but Canrhig was not one like this. She had strange habits, she was restless, she disregarded all polite customs, and never once refused to bend her knees before any master, be it man or god. These things worried them. One who was so ready to challenge the system would surely bring bad luck and a bad name to the area.

Canrhig moved endlessly from the moment consciousness blossomed under her skin, and the ability to swing her fat legs towards the clouds. She wiggled and rolled over on her belly, and started stuffing mosses and grasses and pieces of brugaits into her mouth. She had a mouthful of teeth like tombstones from the very beginning, and although the mountain was her mother, a support and a habitat for her, she had never had very little guidance from anyone. She had to bring herself to insist, as the fish and primates do, living on her instincts. But that was nothing to her, she was happy herself on the mountain, and as she grew she climbed higher to the wilder places, still dancing and moving and spinning.

Canrhig grew into a strong child, a pretty girl, a long-haired young lady, a handsome woman, but not in the usual way. Some days, she appeared as a beautiful long-legged lodes, her dress as light as the feathers of the moors around her shoulders, and her hair a cascade of rings the color of red ferns down her back. The next day, she would be all black bony knots like a thorn tree in winter, her bony body bare, her teeth protruding from her fleshless skull, and her raucous laughter waking the dogs in the night. Then she would be back rolling on her back in the swamp, her feet in the air making a bubbling sound like a stream on a fine day. And then without warning, she would lie down in a remote high valley like a ridge of rock and stop breathing for a month, hiding herself in a shroud of mist, her flesh gradually slipping off her bones, her skull staring at the stars from the empty holes of her eyes. Then she would get up again, her hair black this time, swirling in black rags around the high rocks with the ravens. She was fickle and changeable, refusing to be one thing.

People feared her, but accepted her, like they would accept the weather, and left her alone. Some of them brought her the guts when they killed a sheep, or the head, or the bones to chew. They believed that these offerings of bloody scraps would keep her giant feet from standing on their crops, animals, barns and houses. That Canrhig would keep the storms to herself on the mountain, and cut off the river from destroying the bridge. Canrig thought they were asking for forgiveness. The remains were blessed and given to the ravens to eat.

But then it is more likely that she grew up like everyone else, from being a child to being a young lady and then a wife, and with no one to teach her how to be among people, that she is quite a wild creature that look She learned how to hunt a hare by watching the birds of prey strike suddenly from a distance - and the idea came to her of using a stone, and throwing it as a weapon to hit the animal on the back of its head unexpectedly. He learned how to fish from the blue heron, by standing still in the river for hours. She made a spear as sharp as the bird's beak, and between that and the heather leaves and blueberries, peanuts and acorns, she managed to get plenty of food to live, somehow.

Canrhig was fond of rough weather, and was often seen dancing on top of a precipice, her hair attracting lightning and her body crackling and rumbling with the dangerous mixture of electricity and water. Someone less durable would have split in two, but Canrhig was made of solid earth, and her body knew how to channel these energies for good. She would like to stand on the top of the cliff when the wind blows the waterfalls to insist into the sky, and be immersed in the rush of cold steam. He liked to run with the wolves on a clear moonlit night, and he howled heartbroken for a month of nights when the last of the pack was killed by the poisonous spear of Utrig Trwyn Hyll. However, he came to himself, and although the eiroed valley was not the same without the wolves, he still found joy on wild days of storm and in the calmness of blue skies. When the sun shone, Canrhig sat still, still, and the live butterflies would land on her face, their wings tickling her eyelids lightly, and the stone bell tower would stand on her head to call for his love.

Do you believe all this? Does any of this strike you as likely at all? If she was a woman of flesh and blood, she probably hid in a barn among the grass and the heat of the animals when the winter storms came, and it was there that Twm found her one cold night, when he looking for a sickle for which he intended to make a new fist.

It was hiding in the hayloft, like many other times. Canrhig knew how to stay still and breathe slowly and disappear into the shadows, but this time when Twm came through the door, carrying a breath of cold wind behind him, his eyes bright after being outside under the stars, something happened to Ganrig. Her eye was drawn towards him, and instead of retreating, she pushed the hair from her face to see him better. The movement attracted Twm's attention, and he looked to demand. Their eyes caught each other across the barn. Twm saw the dark eyes and the black hair, and the bare shoulders, because Canrig had taken off her dress and hung it on the beam to dry. Without thinking, without hesitation, Twm climbed the ladder, and stretched out his hand to touch her face. He slid into her goal like a cat, and like a cat, he stroked her and loved her and pleased her. From the moment when Twm came through the barn door until he found himself in Canrig's arms among the grass, his heart galloping like a stallion on grace, not a single word was spoken between them. There were no words in his mind, no thoughts of any kind clouding his joy and his desire for her. Their hearts beat the same beat, their breath one breath, their bodies entwined as one creature, in the warm nest of grass under the roof, and the big world far away, and the wind still roaring outside. Twm fell asleep, and Canrhig folded her body around him.

At last Twm woke up, and looked around him, as if he was waking up from a strange dream, and said

"Oh dear god, what have I done?" Canrhig reached out for his hand, but he moved away. He put on his clothes hastily, and without looking at her, climbed down the ladder, and returned to the house to his wife. Canrhig was long used to being alone, and she assumed she would see him again sometime. Eventually she fell asleep.

Canrhig continued to live her life, to sleep under the stars on clear summer nights, to fish for salmon and gather leaves in the bushes and woods. He tended to avoid the houses and farms, without rain when the weather was at its worst, and then he would sneak into the buildings outside for shelter. She wasn't alone, she had the trees and the birds, the rocks and the stars for company, but she thought about Twm sometimes. Something had changed in her that night. Her body was different, her breasts felt heavy and sore, a spear in her back, and she was hungry all the time. The monthly bleeding had stopped for a long time, which was fine by Canrig. After a while, her belly started to grow round. He thought that Twm would want to know, and he went to look for him where he was plowing the flat land near the stream. But to reach the field next to the stream, he wanted to pass the house and the barn, and that was where Elin, Twm's wife, was spreading the washing between the apple trees in the orchard. Canrhig walked towards her, without fear or guilt, and the two looked at each other from afar. The two saw each other, and realized that one was a mirror to the other. Their bellies were round like full moons, their feet were firm on the ground, their hair was waving in the breeze, almost exactly the same colour, and their eyes were both green like birch leaves. They were like two sisters, for a moment. Canrhig gazed, and he saw two blond sons, twins, born on the same day, but from two different mothers. But then he saw that one flourished and grew while the other withered and withered.

"Have you come to laugh at me?" Elin asked. Canrhig shook her head.

"You can't tell me anything that I don't already know" said Elen "I immediately admitted that he had been with you in the hayloft, that you charmed him and seduced him into your arms" Canrhig raised one shoulder, and looked at her like a defiant bird looks at a woman with crumbs in her hand.

"I know what you are" said Elin, and turned back to the washing.

"He will not live longer than a month after his birth" said Canrhig, sadly, and turned to walk away.

Elin stared at her, her eyes huge with fear. She dropped the washing basket on the floor, turned and ran into the house, crying, and did not speak a single word from that moment until the day her firstborn died, the little blond son she had called him. n Eurig, and brought him up and loved him knowing that her care of him would be short. On the day of the funeral, after placing his little body in the soil, he spoke for the first time.

"He did a hundred" he said. "She cursed him, when I was expecting" the others looked at each other, a murmur went through the crowd.

"The milk soured after she was there asking for bread" someone said after a while

“Oh! Three of our chickens dropped dead for no reason in the world, and when I thought she had just passed, I refused to give her eggs, because I wanted enough to make pancakes for tea! " Someone else said.

"She is a witch" said Elen "she has taken my son from me, and I want to take her son."

Canrhig had retreated to claim the valley as it got heavier, and had given birth to her child in the cromlech, among the bones of her ancestors' ancestors, and there she was when the villagers arrived. Elin and Twm were in the lead, and there was a nasty crowd behind them, carrying scythes and pitchforks, and talking about spells and witchcraft and magic. Canrhig tucked back into the shadows, her child on her breast, his blonde hair clinging to her golden forehead. Her arms tightened around him. The crowd stood outside. Twm stepped forward.

"This child is my son" he said, for all to hear. "I'm not ashamed, because you charmed me to Canrhig, to lose myself and sleep with you in the hayloft. I was like a man out of his mind, without will, without reason, and you did that to me from your own evil intention and will. And worse than that, you put a curse on my other son, a son born out of wedlock between me and my wife. But the son born because of your wickedness is a blameless child, and this is my only son, so I claim my child, to be brought up by my wife, and you may stay here as an exile among the bones and the bare rocks to regret your wickedness forever." And then, Canrhig was pulled from her hiding place, and her son was torn from her arms, before she had a chance to say anything or deny anything.

And so it was. Canrhig hid in the cromlech. He gave his best to dance on top of the cliff in the wind. She would fish in the river when she wanted food, but otherwise, she moved very little. The pain of losing her son was like a heavy stone in her belly, and all joy had fled.

Her son grew up to be a bold and smart boy, like a young oak tree that grows in good land, but the name given to him by Elin and Twm was Wil. He was warned by them to avoid the cromlech at all costs, like all the children in the area, because there was a witch who killed children. But you know about children, the thing they shouldn't do is the thing that goes with their time, and one day when he was fifteen years old, Wil led a group of house boys to demand the path to the bridge, and from there to insist through the large stones that lie among the grass all over the place, and indeed, there was a thin, sad woman, wearing black rags, and white bones around her feet along the floor , under the shadow of the great rock of the dome. She stared indifferently at nothing, and when Wil came near, she looked at him as if she hadn't noticed he was there.

"You are the witch" said Wil. Canrhig's eyes changed, as if she finally saw that someone was there. He smiled. His teeth were crooked.

"I know who you are!" He said “you're the same as your father. What do they call you?"

"Will"

“Wil, oh devil! What a silly name. Your real name is Deri. That's the name I gave you when you were born. Don't let them humiliate you with a name like Wil."

The boy was surprised, and something in the woman's voice frightened him. She grabbed her fishing spear, which was leaning on the rock beside her, and pointed the tip at her neck

"You are a witch who eats children." said Wil "these are the bones of all the children, you have killed and eaten them. You are a bad old witch, a friend of the devil, said father." Canrig looked at her son, and without moving from where she was sitting, she grabbed the shaft of the spear and gave it a sudden twist, forcing the boy to let go of his grip.

"I gave you your life" said Canrhig, pointing the tip of the spear at his chest "and I would like to take it from you too, but I am not a witch." She lowered the spear, and with one turn of her hand she sent the boy and his friends away.

After that the whole valley was a wild buzz of talk and worry and the rumor that Canrig the web witch she threatened Wil Gwastadnant with a spear, and that she was responsible for the disappearance of another child who had gone missing, and everyone remembered Elin's first child who died.

A traveling preacher happened to be in the church that Sunday, and when he heard about the witch living in the cromlech to demand the valley, he went there to have a look, and when he came back, he was perfectly sure that Canrhig is a close friend of the devil.

“Look, she lives in that rocky desert place, there are bones all around her home, the place is filthy, it stinks! You know how she keeps changing from one form to another, sometimes a hare and sometimes a trout, a thorn tree or a rock on top of the mountain? Who do you think gives someone such abilities? Who enables her to rise from the dead to life every month after the dark moon? Only the devil can give powers like this to anyone. "

"But didn't Jesus rise from the dead to life?" Asked a boy from the audience who had been listening more attentively than the others.

"That was different!" Said the preacher. "She's a witch, that's what she is, and the devil protects her and helps her lure little children into her lair, and you know what she does then? Yes, she eats them!” Then he rubbed his hands first and led a prayer like this:

"O God our father, deliver us from the devilish influence of evil women. Among the flock in this valley is a black, horned sheep, which turns its eyes aside when the light of manliness shines on its misdeeds. She is a witch who curses the pious people of the village, steals their children and kills their animals. While a witch is alive in the vicinity, there will be no crop of wheat or milk or milk, there will be no rest for the children or the mothers or the pious men. Lord father, deliver us from his evil, and guide us through the goodness of your will to choose a strong boy from among us to do your will and cleanse the valley of the dark influence of fall once and for all."

The preacher unfolded his hands and looked at the crowd.

"Who killed the witch?" He asked.

Silence. Everyone looked at him. Complaining about her and blaming her for things was one thing, but killing her? No one had thought of killing her.

"She is doing the devil's work among you!" The preacher said “she's demonizing the whole area! Are you going to allow her curse to hinder your lives forever?”

“No...” The crowd murmured

“No! Of course you're not! You want to choose a strong and brave boy, and put a sword in his hand to go and cut her head off. Only then will you find peace in this valley! What do you want to do?”

“Kill the witch!” Elin shouted

"Of course!" Said the preacher. "What do you want to do?"

“Kill the witch!” Elin and Wil and Twm shouted, and several of their neighbours

"You sure are!" The preacher said "what do you want to do?"

“Kill the witch!” Everyone in the crowd shouted

"Very good!" The preacher said "what knight of justice will carry the sword?"

“Me!” Wil said, standing up.

“No! Elin said, pulling on his arm, trying to make him sit back down

"Good boy" said the preacher "where can we get a sword?"

Silence.

"Perhaps we can borrow one from the master in the mansion?" Said someone in the back

"Good, I'll go at once to ask!" Said the preacher, and he led the crowd out of the church in one long snake, and at its head was Wil, his blond hair shining in the sun like a saint's halo.

The master of the Palace laughed when he heard that he wanted to borrow a sword. He had been at his dinner, and on his third glass of barley beer.

"Kill the witch, will you?" He said "that's fun, I'll come with you myself, it's just that I have an important guest waiting for me in the parlour." But he took his grandfather's sword off its hook. It was sharp and rust-free, as the little servant cleaned and greased and sharpened it every week. The preacher made Wil kneel, raising the sword in both hands while he blessed him with words of protection from the gospel, and away they went to the cromlech.

Canrhig saw them coming from afar. He saw the blade of the sword shining in the sun, and Deri's golden halo. He looked like a hero in an old tale, that was for sure, despite his simple clothes and farm shoes. She made no effort to run away, although she could easily have melted into the rocks. She sat still, and when Wil came within sword distance of her, she looked straight into his eyes.

“Deri” he said “the wood of my womb. They have bent your trunk to their will, your branches are crooked and your twigs shake in a contrary wind. But you are my son nonetheless, and from your line will come a hundred daughters who will be the mothers of a hundred children, and they will be the mothers of a hundred children, and each one can speak with the birds and understand a whisper the wind will spin their will with the water of the river to reach the four corners of the world, and their kingdom will be joyful, and full of love and kindness, not like this world which is nothing of nd empty rules and dry bones."

“Shut up!” The preacher shouted, but Canrhig had finished speaking

"Canrhig Bwt" said the preacher "we have come here today to accuse you of doing the devil's work, of stealing children, of killing chickens, of curdling milk and seducing men. How do you plead?”

Canrhig didn't respond, her mind was far away, she had already left to move among the clouds on top of the mountain. I wonder if it would come in handy?

"How do you plead?" The preacher asked again. Canrhig stared at the heather on the opposite slopes, where a ray of sunlight illuminated an acorn-shaped spot. Yes, he decided. It would pour the rain, but there would also be gaps in the clouds and the sun would shine on the hills, and there would be a rainbow the likes of which had never been seen before in Nant Peris. A rainbow with three arches, and a bright light below, and black clouds above.

"How do you plead?" The preacher asked for the third time. Canrhig smiled at him gently. Silly little man, he thought, from a distance.

"Silence is a confession" the preacher finally said "cut off her head"

Canrhig knelt among the bones of sheep and the bones of ancient people who had died centuries before. A raven croaked, turning overhead. "Cei, old friend" said Canrhig, and those were his only words as the blade of the sword rang through the air. She was sharp, and Deri was a strong boy. Her head was cut off with that one blow, and she rolled down the hill between the rocks, and her blood flowed into the ground. And as she had predicted, it rained, and her old body was washed clean, her blood was washed into the stream, her hair and face were washed, and her head smiled at the shining rainbow above, and on the raven he landed nearby as the crowd left.

But that's not the end of Canrig, because every time you hear the wind whipping around the rocks on top of the mountain, or if you see delicate white flowers on an old black tree, or hear a raven's croak, or see a butterfly land on a rock in the sun, you know that Canrhig is still there treading the valley.

And her children are alive to this day, despite Elen's efforts to prevent the son from getting a wife or girlfriend or seeing any girl at all, ever. They are the ones who provide places for the birds to nest, and nurture the grass fields, and create ponds for the frogs and frogs. They are the ones who whisper when the world shouts, and love when the world hates.