Those words were her grandmother's warmest praise, and Emer smiled to hear them. She had always known her grandmother was rather different. Deirdre never baked cookies or knit sweaters, like the grandmothers in the books Emer had read, and she was quite a bit younger than them, too. None of the ones in the books fought burly men twice their size for kicks, or spent their evenings engaged in intense drinking competitions down at the local tavern. Keeping in shape, Deirdre called it, and laughed when Emer asked her. On the other hand, none of the grandmothers in the books were decorated generals, respected reformers, or related to her, and if Deirdre came with certain quirks, and a certain reticence when it came to actually putting her feelings into words, Emer loved her dearly, nevertheless.