One would be blind not to see beauty that she was in her youth, but many are blind as woman comes to an age, forsaking her knowledge and skills on cost of youthfull appearance that we love so much, us men.
There are many faces of Haesel, and i am still discovering all the layers of her personality.
We have met a long time ago, when i was just a wee ladd, stupid to that level that i forced a kiss on that innocent girl that played by the river. Was it the Old Forest or my flaws, i still remember that kiss gladly, as it was first and last that i will get from Haesel. Her will is strong and such her hate and grudge even stronger. Of course one must be strong by will not only by body to survive in Old Forest.
I love when she frowns on me, her brushy brows descending over blue eyes, so rare in Breelander, winkles become deeper in corners of her eyes, her lips pout with anger. All her focus is on me and what i did, moment of my life, to have all her attention.
I feel like a boy, pulling the pony tail of a sweet girl just so she could look at me and see me. See me and what i feel for her.
Most of the time she is looking in front of herself, as we are walking trough the forest toward the great road and Bree. Market day. Every Saturday i wash, shave, take my best traveling robes and go toward Withywindle Reach, sit by her house hoping she would invite me one day in, perhaps smile to me.
Before dawn she would get up, i could hear her dressing up, eating her meal of salted fish and herbs, soon she would leave her home, and with little glance toward me she would pick stacked baskets made of willow branches, hang them on the each end of the staffs and put it on he shoulders, balancing she would walk over the fallen tree to other side of the river, and I would follow.
She would never speak to me more then needed.
Sometimes i just wish to slap her so she would shout on me, to stop punishing me for leaving her. For twenty years, she waited. I can wait few, she said.
