About Derilea: she of great lineage speaks

In my dream I look out from my prison walls on the great promontory of my youth – the Tor of Troup, or, in my great-grandmother’s Pictish language the stronghold of Cuissene where, offshore, in AD729 ‘thrice fifty Pictish ships laid waste the navy of the invaders’. We were great then: a Nation of wealth, wisdom and great lineage. Now the Scots have come and stolen our dream; pilfered our coffers and hunting forests, decimated our wildlife and trees. They take their booty and retreat to the lowlands. We are left with our memories. It is better to live in dreams of my past than to participate in cultural suicide. I know my memoirs shall be read by future kings and scholars. I can wait.

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