Inside the hut is sparsely furnished - a bare earth floor covered by rushes, an open hearth with a black cualdron of something broth-like bubbling away on top, a box bed, some simple wooden stools, a basket of unspun wool with a spindle and distaff nearby, and a loom with a half-completed weave stand near the fire.
The girl pulls up a stool, slowly lowering herself onto it, and gestures for the two women to do the same. She relates her tale softly, but in a matter-of-fact tone of voice with little in the way of emotion.
"People think that it is Rhonabwy's," she says, "he who now lies sick in the chantry house. But we haven't, I never.... It is the man from the dreams, with the golden hair and green eyes. He looks fair, but I know that inside he is something worse, it's difficult to explain, but you know how in dreams you just know these things? I think he must be a devil or a creature from Annwfn, so what does that make this?" she asks, rubbing her bump again.
