"I don't know anyone who searches for allure in Belfast, kid," funny that she was calling Molly kid. They couldn't really be very different in age but the word came out of her mouth before she could take it back. The real question was what the hell well--Oh. Saint Brigid's most likely. "Superstitious rot," she said in a rather biting tone, "But a right sight better than those damned Protestants anyhow."
Mae shook her head a little, "More of a practical girl. The stories are just stories. There are more important things to worry about." Like getting shot. Well, getting shot again but that was beside the point. No one needed to know her life. No one. She couldn't trust any of them. And, alright to be honest she didn't really know the myths as well as some in her particular... group. She'd been more interested in the practical things like how to use the land around them. Hidden springs, healing properties of herbs. Cathair could keep the myths.