Breagha & Eilidh

Two wee sisters from the craggy mountains of Scotland.


Breagha, is the wild one. She's often gone for long hours, sometimes days at a time, exploring the craggy mountains and moors around their home. She rides on the back of a pine marten, a fiercely loyal creature named Ùisdean. She's a storyteller at heart, and she's often weaving tales in her mind as she rides, or collecting them from folk she meets along her way, to bring back and tell her little sister. 

Eilidh is not adventurous like her sister at all, she prefers to be near home with her mother and her little brothers. But she loves to hear her sister's stories and imagine the wild and untamed places she's traveled. Eilidh has the most beautiful voice, and she loves to turn her sister's tales into songs that she sings for her brothers and her friends the birds.  


The Fairies Dance

The fairies are dancing — how nimbly they bound!
They flit o’er the grass tops, they touch not the ground;
Their kirtles of green are with diamonds bedight,
All glittering and sparkling beneath the moonlight.

Hark, hark to their music! how silvery and clear —
‘Tis surely the flower-bells that ringing I hear, —
The lazy-wing’d moth, with the grasshopper wakes,
And the field-mouse peeps out, and their revels partakes.

How featly they trip it! how happy are they
Who pass all their moments in frolic and play,
Who rove where they list, without sorrows or cares,
And laugh at the fetters mortality wears!

But where have they vanish’d? — a cloud ‘s o’er the moon,
I’ll hie to the spot, — they’ll be seen again soon —
I hasten — ’tis lighter, — and what do I view? —
The fairies were grasses, the diamonds were dew.

And thus do the sparkling illusions of youth
Deceive and allure, and we take them for truth;
Too happy are they who the juggle unshroud,
Ere the hint to inspect them be brought by a cloud. 

by Carolina Eliza Scott (1777-1853)









Faerie Glens & Castles

It seems I have an incurable case of wanderlust. It's just there, in every fiber of my being. We've had a wonderful year tucked away on our island, but my heart is restless again. This time it's craving the faerie glens, looming castles and ancient ruins of Scotland. My boys are restless too, I think they've inherited my gypsy nature. In three weeks time we'll be hopping on a plane to London. From there we'll make our way slowly up to Edinburgh by train. The summer belongs to Scotland, to old cities and the Highlands.

After that, we'll be going to a small medieval village in the French Alps. If all goes well, that will be our home for the next year. I will still be making dolls, and I'm hoping to start working on a book of faeries at last (this trip is all about gathering inspiration).

I will be painting too, for a small project. You can read about it here.

The Race

Faerie children are no different than human children. Inevitably, when they've been dressed in their finest frocks for an afternoon picnic, and left to play while their mother goes to market, with a stern warning not to get dirty, it is not going to end well.

No sooner had their mother's head disappeared over the crest of the hill, than Hattie looked at Clementina and Theodora, "last one to the stream's a toad's egg!" she cried.

Down they flew, leaping over toadstools and skirting round thistle patches. When they arrived at the bottom of the gully, they collapsed breathless and giggling. After a moment Theodora said, "let's have a real race. The winner gets all of our cake at the picnic."

"You're just saying that because you're going to ride mantis," said Clementina, who was very fond of cake and not keen on wagering her piece.

"We'll draw stems," said Theodora, plucking three daisies from beside her. 

In the end, Hattie got to ride Mantis, Clementina got Beetle, and Theodora got Snail (mind you, he's a proper racing snail, and not the kind we're used to). 

~ Hattie ~


~ Theodora ~


 ~ Clementina ~

"Alright," said Hattie, "the race will be from the stream's edge, to the nettle patch at the top of the field, first one there gets all our cake."

Clementina won by a hair's breadth. Hattie tried to leap over Theodora at the last minute and ended up right in the nettle patch with some very sore blisters and a torn frock. But they were all smiles and laughter as they made their way home. 

They arrived to find their mother unpacking her market basket. She took one look at them and threw her hands in the air. "That's it! Look at you girls! No picnic and NO cake, until those dresses are scrubbed and mended! And you'd better hurry if you want them to dry in time."

"Now, out." She said, pointing at the door. They stumbled out of the house, trying to keep from giggling at their mother's exasperation, all except for Clementina who looked on the verge of tears at the possibility of loosing not one, but three pieces of cake.

Hattie decided it would be far more fun to go for another ride than spend the rest of the morning cleaning her frock. I won't even tell you what her mother said when she found her missing sometime later.


I love the creative spontaneity of children. When my son saw these three, he came up with this darling little poem off the top of his head. 

When their mother dilly dallies,

In the luscious green valley,

Each maiden hops upon her racer's back,

On their little faerie track.

by Dawa (age 12)

Hattie, Theodora and Clementina will be available separately in my shop today at 5:30 PM (PST).